


Afterparty

by Mia_J



Category: Strike Back
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Gen, Hospital environment, Inspired by another Fanfiction, Medical Procedures, Violence, Whump, Worried Mac, also some plot if you read long enough, bad language, but I couldn't resist, hurt wyatt, loads of bad language actually, my English is painful, my writing sucks, sorry Wyatt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 23:02:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mia_J/pseuds/Mia_J
Summary: Wyatt is treated in a hospital after being brutally tortured. When things calm down a little and he barely starts to deal with the ramifications, he gets captured again. Simply living through the most atrocious days of his life.





	1. Incoming

**Author's Note:**

> This story is derived from a fanfiction _“All Gone”_ written by fixusi, available on ff.net [here](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12834687/1/All-Gone). Go read it now if you haven’t, because it’s awesome!  
>  There is some discrepancy as I started to write it when there were only three chapters. I.e. - Wyatt’s injuries correspond with the end of chapter III and ***spoiler alert*** brilliant Mr. Crowe never dies…

The hospital area seems almost abandoned, missing the usual daylight rush. It is close to the sunset and the redhead doctor who just stepped out of the side hospital door smiles at the calm, windless atmosphere, that allows her to take a quiet coffee break. Her shift is just about to start and the coffee tastes better than she could ever expect from the terrible coffee maker.

She puts the paper cup on a trash bin with a small grimace on the manners, but so what, it is not like the old disgustingly gray cigarette ash could get through the paper, is it? She fishes her favorite dark chocolate bar out of her pocket and with relaxed sigh takes a bite.

She never gets to a second one as the screeching tires interrupt it. Her alarms go wild with that ear tearing sound and before the man with a bulletproof vest comes out of the car, she places the bar on the top of the trash bin and starts fast walking toward the car. She hesitates when she sees the guns behind the man’s belt, but when he goes to the back seat to help another, obviously injured man, out of the car, she speeds up again.

Her eyes travel quickly over the stumbling man with pained expression. His body looks like it was used as a canvas by a cubist painter and although she's seen a lot as a doctor, no accident or a bar fight or a fall make the blood this dry and this dirty.

“Almost there, mate.”

She glances at the man in the vest as his voice triggers something inside her head and her eyes go wide.

“Mac?”

“Gill,” he replies with his eyebrows up.

They make no comment on their reunion and she just starts helping to carry the injured man from the other side, grimacing at the horrifying bruise that spreads down below his ribs.

“Careful with his hand,” Mac warns her, gazing the shot-through palm. She gently puts the arm around her neck, staining her hair with Wyatt's blood from other injuries on his arm and even though she tries not to touch any damaged part of the terrorized body, he winces at the movement. He would rather gave up and just fell down on the spot, but he puts a bit of his weight on the doctor and walks with them, teeth clenched.  

“What happened?” she asks, trying to catch Wyatt’s glance but his eyes are shut and it’s clear that he invests all his strength to stay on his feet and to draw in some air. She looks at Mac, hoping to get some sort of picture of what might have caused this.

“He’s been taken.”

“Tortured?” She asks, because one doesn’t see this every day, not even in her job. She can definitely read it from the colorful bruises, lacerations and splattered blood everywhere. He has been tortured and brutally and from the look of some injuries, it’s been hours. There’s also evidence, that someone actually tried to stop him from bleeding out, probably just so he lasted longer and didn’t just die in the process. She can also hear the struggle for every breath, that is getting worse with every step.

“He’s been shot to the leg and hand, beaten pretty bad, cut, hit to the head many times,” Mac shares what he knows, trying hard to keep his voice steady while saying all this aloud. It's harder than he had though, to list everything he had seen on the video, knowing it was just a fraction of what Wyatt must had suffered through. “He’s started to have trouble breathing about twenty minutes ago. Before that he was _okay_. Sort of.”

“Alright. We’re gonna fix him, don’t worry,” she says, employing some of her calming skills. “Mac, I can’t let you stay inside heavily armed. Just help me get him behind the door, there’s a gurney right behind them. Then you have to go and ditch the guns.” She instructs when they get closer to the hospital side entrance.

“Right.”

“Are _you_ hurt?” she turns to him with worry on her face, realizing that he might have gotten in harm’s ways too.

“No, I’m good.”

“I will find you once we stabilize him,” she suggests, when they enter the hospital.

“You’re gonna be okay, man, you’re in good hands,” Mac says to Wyatt, reluctant to leave his side. He’s gotten him into safety just a few moments ago and he doesn’t feel comfortable letting him go out of his sight yet. Not really being sure if his friend is going to survive, he just stands there, frozen, the gasps for air that are becoming more and more desperate, scare the hell out of him. "Wyatt," Mac calls his name and is crushed by the look that Wyatt gives him. The mix of reproach and pain awakes the twinging of the guilt inside of Mac's stomach. 

“I’ve got him,” the doctor says to Mac as they lay Wyatt down on the gurney. “Go,” she says while setting the gurney a little up, so Wyatt is not lying flat. She checks that Mac and his guns are gone and starts pushing the wheeled bed towards the emergency. 

“I am doctor Laney and I am going to take care of you. Can you tell me your name?” she demands from Wyatt, who is still lost deep in his agony, holding his chest with his not injured hand. He doesn’t even stirr, his eyelids are pressed together, same his lips.

“I need some help here,” she yells, worried that he’s unresponsive. “Sir, do you hear me, can you tell me your name?”

Wanting to say, that he heard her the first time and just couldn’t say a damn word, he opens his eyes for a moment, but closes them immediately as the sharp ceiling light fires up his headache.

He suddenly recalls why he hates doctors and hospitals in general; from his experience doctors are usually assholes, and being there doesn’t necessarily mean that all the pain just stops. It usually gets worse before it gets better and even after that, no one can ever be sure, how they come out of it, if at all.

“Wyatt,” he answers with a substantial delay and coaxes himself to look into the doctor’s eyes. If he wasn't imminently dying, he would have probably teased her about how did she cross paths with Mac, but right now he is just happy, that they seemed like friends, because she might actually be nice to him.

“Could you give me a full name, please?” She asks while pushing the gurney all by herself, cursing over the deserted emergency hallway.

“Samuel Wyatt.”

“Good, do you know what day it is?” she throws another question, evaluating how much out of it he is. “A month?” she adds when he gives her confused look.

Wyatt almost forgets to breathe while thinking about it. He knows the approximate time range he spent in captivity and he knows everything that happened before, but there are just no dates that would seem right. “How can I not know this?” he asks, completely lost.

“It’s okay, you can tell me that later,“ she offers when she sees panic wake in his eyes. That’s the last she needs. “You’re a soldier, right? What's your military rank?” she says, more to divert his thoughts than to know how to address him properly.

“S-sergeant,” he stammers between the laborious breaths.

“Okay, Sergeant Wyatt, last question, do you know where you are?” she asks catching back the eye contact. He nods and she hates to pressure him more, but she does anyway. “Please, tell me where.”

“Hospital.”

“Good,” she leads the gurney with him further into the hallway, while trying to take in all injuries visible on him. Solving the breathing makes the top priority, then the maze of cuts and bruises on his torso, open wounds on his head, nothing bleeding, though. A stab wound and both gunshot wounds look either partially taken care off or really old, as they don’t bleed either. There is a possibility of internal bleeding and concussion. All in all, this man went through hell.

She welcomes the two nurses who come rushing to each side of the gurney and help her to transfer him to an ED room. Finally, being able to use her hands to assess the patient, she removes his good hand that is still lying over the left side of his chest, clenched. She fails to hide the internal struggle with finding not-damaged spot for the stethoscope, because the skin is covered with cuts and bruises everywhere. She just places it over one of them, rather not thinking about it. The breathing sounds on his left side only confirms her worry.  

“Gary, I am gonna need your help,” she calls out for an attending doctor who appears on the other side of the ED. Quite a tall guy with an inborn stern expression raises three fingers to mark a three minutes wait and starts a discussion with his patient's family. She yells his name again and replies with two raised fingers to indicate two minutes top. Then she continues the way to the trauma room.

As soon as she’s done with the stethoscope, Wyatt leads his hand back to his chest, as if it could help to ease the pain. It doesn’t help at all and Wyatt feels like he’s slowly losing the fight with his lungs.

Refusing to submit to the panic, he grunts in frustration and attempts to get into sitting position, just to be gently pushed back to the mattress by the nurses.

“I know it hurts to breathe. Just try to concentrate on slow breaths, don’t have to be deep, just as much as you can manage,” the doctor suggests supportively and allows the nurses to elevate the bed a little more.

Wyatt does as he’s told and it’s working for couple of following inhales. Maybe he will be able to make it into the room where they are supposed to help him. They are almost there when he’s done with the agonizing breathing and rather holds his breath as it seems to do less damage. Doctor Laney steps aside to grab a pair of gloves and searches for her colleague who is still in the middle of his discussion.

The nurses hook him to the monitors, when they arrive in the room and park the gurney in the middle. Over the clean environment and bright lights, Wyatt can't help but feel like back in the basement, and if it weren't for the warm hand of the older nurse, that takes his hand to start an IV, he would get close to panicking again. This woman's touch is so soft that he doesn't even feel the needle piercing his skin. Or maybe his brain is just too tired to send the signals, because suddenly it’s all busy around him. He can hear quite alarming beeping, signaling the rhythm of his heart and it is all but helping to keep calm.

“Gimme, girls,” the doctor asks for the vitals and the younger nurse starts dictating the numbers defining low blood pressure, rapid heart rate and low levels of blood oxygen. She curses silently but keeps the balanced expression, because she can feel Wyatt’s eyes on her.

“Did you lose consciousness after you hit your head?”

Wyatt never thought this question could require so much thinking, but yeah, he nods, he was out.

“Alright, Sergeant, can you look into the light for me?” she lights up her pen and aims it at his eye. He obeys and it feels like she just stabbed him with that pen. He flinches away, closing both of his eyes.

“I’m sorry, just a quick look,” she says and blinds his other eye.

When he’s asked to follow her finger, he leans his head against the bed, as a nasty wave of dizziness washes over him. He huffs, all grouchy from not being able to perform an easy task. Doctor Laney waits patiently for him to overcome it and continues her examination. Meanwhile the older nurse removes Wyatt’s shoes and cuts his pant-leg in two, exposing the injured leg. Then repeats the process with the other leg and his underwear, leaving him completely naked.

Wyatt reacts with occasional shaking that tightens his chest even more. The doctor sees it and travels with her eyes down to his feet and up, assessing quickly what damage has been done to his legs. Noting the gunshot wound and a few cuts, she orders the nurse to cover him, hoping that the shaking stops.

Wyatt silently appreciates the effort and welcomes the sterile blanket that gives him some warmth, but instead of a relief, the pain in his chest aggravates again. He groans with the sudden intake of breath and closing his eyes, he just thinks how sweet it would be if he could just stop breathing completely.

“Sergeant, hanging in there?” the doctor asks to force him open his eyes and is happy that he does so. She reaches with both hands to his face and before she touches him, knowing it’s going to hurt him, she asks for a permission with nonchalant _let me_.

She quickly examines his jaws and cheeks, looking for broken bones with her gentle fingers and even though he hisses when she gets close to the tattered cheek, he holds steady as a rock. He studies her during that, holding his breath most of the time, trying to decipher her expression and deduce how bad it is, but she's keeping it deep under well played poker face.

“Slow breaths, Sergeant, don't forget,” she reminds him. Then she turns his head slowly to look for traces of blood in his ears. Not finding any, she continues the head to toe check-up and asks for his temperature, noticing the sweat forming on his forehead.

“38.1,” the younger nurse reports. “And oxygen levels dropped to 82%.”

“Alright, put a mask on,” she orders when she's done with checking his head and moves lower to his chest. “I’m sorry, this is probably going to hurt you,” she says apologetically after removing his hand from his chest and lying it next to his side, again. She runs another inner fight with the mess that is this man’s torso, but keeping her professional facade, she places her hands and fingers on him and keeps pressing all around his chest firmly, ignoring the blood-stained skin. The left part feels like smashed completely so it’s no wonder that his lung is collapsing.

“Sergeant, any known allergies to medication?” She proceeds to gather his medical history while still assessing the damage.

He shakes his head as he breathes into that mask.

“Do you take any medication? Any major surgeries?”

 _No_ head shake again.

“What about this scar?” she asks, as it does look like a scar made by surgical cut.

Wyatt attempts to take the mask off his face to speak, but she stops him, noting that he can speak with the mask on.

“Stabbed,” he says plainly.

“And this one?” she points at the quite fresh one, the one made by Mac during their last undercover op. “Too?” she raises her eyebrows.

Wyatt nods.

“Maybe you should stay away from knifes, Sergeant.”

Wyatt lets out a half smile that changes into moan as she probes a tender part of his lower abdomen. Disregarding the wincing, she pays that area a little more attention, making a note to check that thoroughly later. Wyatt could tolerate her touch before, but now he hates it and he lets out a relieved sigh when she finally stops.

“Okay, let’s do the chest X-ray,” she blinks at the younger nurse who insightfully rolled in a portable X-ray machine couple moments ago. “Just try to relax and lie still. Continue the slow breaths, alright?” she pats him on a shoulder and recedes from his bed while the nurses set up the machine.

The few seconds is like torture for Wyatt as the task to stay still seems impossible with the increasing pain and his fear suddenly rises as there is nobody around his bed.

Doctor Laney steppes out of the room for a moment which strains Wyatt even more. He can hear her call for Gary again, telling him to get here fast and then there's Mac’s voice. Oh god, he really doesn't want Mac in the room. He wants to tell the nurses to not let him go inside, but he can't catch a breath as his focus goes on lying as still as possible.

“Gillian, how is he?“ Mac asks trying to get a glimpse inside.

“He lives. You stay out of the room, okay?“ she says to him, voice strict, showing him aside.

Wyatt closes his eyes and relaxes, but then he inhales too much air, forgetting how much was the tolerable amount. The sharp stabbing pain in his chest skyrockets and when it only gets worse with the next inhale, he just starts gasping for oxygen that he’s so desperately lacking right now.

Doctor Laney returns inside and goes quickly to the bed to read the x-ray result. “Hold on, Sergeant. Girls, I won’t wait any longer, get me a chest tube kit and give him 4 milligrams of morphine,“ she instructs the nurses and turns to Wyatt. “You should feel a little better in a bit,” she tells him, hoping that at least the baby dose of pain meds will get some of the strain off him.  

And yes, Wyatt can feel some relief in a matter of seconds, but it certainly doesn't kill all the pain.

“What do we have?” Gary finally makes his appearance. Wyatt glances at him and tenses. Can't mean anything good that he's having another doctor, stranger doctor, at his bed.

“I need you to place a chest tube,” she tells him, showing him the X-ray.

The announcement scares Wyatt, from all things he’d imagined they could do to help him, this definitely doesn’t sound like fun. Especially when the casual and balanced expression of doctor Laney shifts into something Wyatt can't easily decipher. Her face is sharp and serious.

“The patient is Sergeant Wyatt, torture victim, brought in by a civilian.” Laney starts an introduction. Wyatt shudders when she refers him as a victim, because it sounds like as if he was already dead. “Airways clear, pneumothorax on a left side along with four broken ribs, concussion positive, abdomen seems clear. SW and GSW to the hand and a thigh, secured for now,” she sums it up for Gary. “Vitals?”

“Heart rate 105, BP 100 to 70, O2 sats 79% and falling,” the nurse offers hastily.

“Okay, I’ll do the chest tube, you've got the rest?” Gary asks, looking at the x-ray and moves swiftly to the bed, on Wyatt’s left side. Wyatt looks up at him with a trace of worry in his eyes, wanting to ask what’s gonna happen, but the man doesn’t look at him.

“Yes,” doctor Laney replies and gets to Wyatt’s right side.

Unsettled from having doctors all around him, Wyatt moves his hand from his chest to the mask on his face, wanting to speak to them. Doctor Laney stops him again, but holds the mask away from his mouth by herself.

"Sergeant-"

“Am I dying?” he interrupts her.

“No, you are not,” she says.

“Can't breathe.” Wyatt wheezes.

The doctor puts the mask back as she hears the wheezing sounds. Meanwhile someone lowers the bed, so Wyatt is flat lying, which makes his poor breathing efforts hurt more, and then there is another vitals reading from the nurse and Wyatt is no longer able to distinct which one was it or how low his oxygen levels went. The _Gary_ doctor, who was probably too busy to introduce himself, is probing the left part of his chest that hurts the most and then listens to his breathing. So many things happening at once and everything is blurry.

He thinks he must be either dying or in the best case, rushing into a panic attack.

“Sergeant Wyatt.”

He can hear the amiable voice of the redhead doctor, whose name got lost in the haze. It pisses him off, so he looks for her. It takes a while to focus on her eyes, however big they are, because they move like magnets, repelling and attracting each other at once. And there he thought that only the room was spinning. He is totally giving up when he feels a soft touch on his face and it works like the best grounding ever.

“Sergeant Wyatt,” doctor Laney repeats when she catches his eyes finally. “It’s gonna be okay, don’t panic, it’s okay,” she soothes and sighs in relief when she hears the beeping slow down from rapid to acceptable rapid. “You hear me?”

Wyatt nods, fuming into the mask, eyes fixed to her.

“Good. Your lung collapsed, that’s why it hurts to breath. It means that air is leaking to the area outside of your lung and makes it unable for the lung to expand. To fix that, we are going to put a plastic tube inside your chest to suck out the air. Do you understand?”

He thinks about it for a moment and he would be lying if he said he does, but it’s not like he can do this any longer, so he gives her another nod, determined to trust them. Just anything to make the suffocating stop.

“Don’t worry, it’s gonna be okay,” she blinks at him and then glares Gary, who’s got almost everything for the procedure ready. Gary carefully lifts Wyatt’s stabbed-through, shot-through hand and places it above his head. Wyatt groans as the torn up tissue on his arm and palm stretches, but that’s the last of his problems now.

“Jamie,” Gary addresses the younger nurse, “hold his arm here.”

This order feels like a gut punch and soon Wyatt feels the skinny fingers covered by gloves surrounding his forearm. He closes his eyes and forces himself to just deal with it; just let them do whatever the hell they need to do and then it’ll be fine.

When he opens his eyes again, he finds doctor Laney’s face in front of him, glad he recalls her name now. “We’re gonna numb you, but honestly, I can’t promise it will not hurt.” He should appreciate the honesty, but he really doesn’t. “It’s important that you won’t move. So just try to lie as still as you can and it’ll be over soon.”

Her last sentence terrifies Wyatt because he can hardly promise that and he forms a silent wish to just pass out.

“You know the patient?” Gary asks her quietly while applying the antiseptic on  the side of Wyatt’s chest.  

She connects that he probably saw her to speak with Mac and shakes her head. “I only know the guy who brought him in.” The reply is loud and clear, so the patient can hear it, and not imagine that it was some secret panic-stricken information that was passed by Gary’s silent voice. This reminds her of the hatred she has towards Gary and his arrogance. But being among the best doctors in a hospital can outshine even the terrible bedside manners, so it's okay, as long as she's near to fix it.

“How do you know him?” Gary inquires further, extending his hand to take a syringe with the anesthetics from a nurse.

Doctor Laney eyes Gary wrathfully and pays no attention to the question. “You’re going to feel this, Sergeant,” doctor Laney warns Wyatt, who can relate to her words. It’s not so bad, until the needle goes awfully deep, to the places he’s never even felt before. Thankfully, it’s fast gone and that was the anesthetic, so he should be fine from now, right?

He watches as Gary grips a scalpel and mentally prepares for the pain that never comes. It’s all good and soon, he hears the sharp metal thing being dropped on a table. What follows is not exactly the greatest feeling he’s ever felt, but it’s still manageable, half dull ache caused by Gary’s finger pushing against the bruised ribs inside Wyatt’s chest.

“Scissors.” Sounds Gary’s next order and it makes Wyatt’s blood run cold. He tries to keep calm and count on the anesthetics that should stop any pain, but he can definitely feel something. He has an urge to tell them, but he finds himself not able to speak.

The nerve wracking tool is handed to Gary and what comes when the blunt end disappears in the incision between Wyatt’s ribs, makes him cry out. Only his self-preservation helps him not to run away from it. But as Gary bores down deeper into his chest and literally cuts through Wyatt’s pectoral muscle, swirling the scissors to the sides, he just can’t help it and attempts to move away from the excruciating pain, cursing the f-words in a line.

The whole trauma team reacts quickly, Gary follows his patient’s movement with the scissors still inside, and both nurses tighten their grip to subdue him back to lying position.

“No, no, no, Sergeant, lie back, lie back,” Doctor Laney pushes him down by his shoulder and eyes Gary, who rather suppresses his need to scold and continues to dig a wide-enough hole into Wyatt.

Wyatt feels embarrassed for endangering himself so he spends all his efforts to endure another round of cutting and prodding, but his energy lasts only for a couple of seconds and his body starts moving away again, as if he couldn’t control it.

This time there is doctor Laney’s hand to stop his rebelling, and as she expected, she’s got enough strength against Wyatt’s weakened form.

“It’s _almost_ done, Sergeant.”

“Hmpf,” Wyatt moans quietly, rolling his eyes up, unable to fight with them or move as the doctor’s hand presses his body down. She hates to agonize this man, but there’s just nothing else she can do, they need to get the tube inside him fast.

“Hold on a little longer, it’ll be just a minute.”

A _minute_. Wyatt thinks about the first definite time range that was given to him. He definitely lost track of time since the scissors ride has begun, but from what he can recall, minute should be quite short period of time, only now it feels like an hour.

The acute pain eases for a moment, and although there’s still heavy pressure that somehow holds the pain inside him, it’s nice to have a moment to take a ridiculously shallow breath, and be ridiculously happy for it. From his peripheral vision, Wyatt can see another pair of scissors clamping the tube that is supposed to go inside his rib cage and with a silent plea no more of this, he rather unwittingly closes his eyes, that became wet during the process.

Gary, trying to comply the minute-long deadline, doesn’t let him ease off and drives the scissors with the tube inside, alongside a finger that leads the way.

Curling his fist and toes, Wyatt unlocks his eyes in terror, because he had never felt worse pain than this and it just can’t be right, something must have gone wrong.

“I know, I know, just a few seconds,” doctor Laney tries to support him by decreasing the time, hoping it won’t be longer, because even though she doesn’t know this man, seeing the desperate squirming and his tormented eyes, leaves her with uneasy sensation in her stomach.

Gary’s vigorous pushes are finally met with success, followed by enormous spike of pain that shoots into every nerve in Wyatt’s body, stunning him senseless.

“Tube’s in,” Gary announces.

“That’s it, Sergeant, it’s done.”

He hears the doctors and lets his eyelids slide shut tiredly, making the accumulated tears stream down on his temple. He feels some relief, but the ache is still there and doesn’t seem like going away. Not even the breathing seems to be better. He searches for the eyes of his doctor, wanting an assurance that the effort wasn't for nothing.

“Give it a moment, breathe slowly,” she answers the unasked question and looks away at Gary, who secures the tube quickly and connects it to the draining device. “Alright, the tube just started working.”

Finding the last reserve of his energy, Wyatt puts aside the pain and tentatively inhales the purified air.  

The nurses watch the monitors for a moment expecting improvement. “O2 sats coming up,” Jamie states and the whole trauma team can hear the beeping slowing down.

“Sergeant? You with me?” doctor Laney asks, noticing that Wyatt’s eyes are closed again and his body tensed. “It may hurt as the lung inflates again, don’t worry and rest up a moment.”

Getting the needed words, Wyatt nods, too torn down to reopen his eyes. Letting the pain use his body as a playground, he enjoys the oxygen filling his system. One of the doctors surprises him with the cold stethoscope on his chest, but there’s nothing that can take away from him the small moment of peace.

* * *

He decides to return to reality when they move his hand from above his head next to his side, which reminds him of the other problems that need to be solved. He lifts the hand with a grimace, to see how bad it is, afraid he might never hold a gun again.

“Can you move your fingers?” doctor Laney asks softly, seeing him flustered.

Wyatt sends the signal to move them and he’s within an inch from crying out from the spasmodic response; but the fingers move, so he does it again, careless, hating the pain but not minding it for the first time since all this started.

“Good, don’t push it, okay? Now tell me if you can feel all of them?” The doctor extends her hand and squeezes the fingers one by one, waiting for his reaction, that is always positive. He closes his eyes, relieved his hand might be functioning again one day. “Okay, now keep the hand up like this and try not to exhaust yourself by moving it.” She advises, seeing how much it strains him.

She moves lower to examine his pelvis and legs. “Is the bullet still inside the wound?” she asks, hovering over the gunshot wound on his thigh. It doesn't surprise her when he shakes his head; the muscle looks torn and the leg is too bloody for just an ordinary gunshot wound. Nothing else seems broken, but he won’t get away without repercussions, there are weeks of physical therapy in front of him for sure.

“Sergeant, I need to check your back, so we’re going to roll you onto your side.” Laney notifies him about another round of pain burst, when she and both nurses gather on his left side. He actually helps them with the move, obviously suppressing the pain, stifling it into a grunt. She is almost tempted to encourage him to scream, to tell him they are used to it. But she just stays silent, astonished by how much he can endure and still play along.

Finding nothing wrong, they put him on his back and dress him into hospital gown. “We’re going to send you to radiology for X-rays and CT, then we’ll figure out the rest, okay?”

“Doctor Laney?” Wyatt’s muffled voice sounds from under the mask. He doesn’t like it, so he just takes it off, being sure that this time it won’t send him into another panic attack, because now he can breathe again. “Thank you.”

The doctor is not sure if she is more surprised from the _thank_ _you_ given after the misery they had just put him through, or from the fact that an almost not breathing patient remembers her name. She only half nods, perplexed. Then she recedes from the bed and after dictating the series of tests and medication to give him, she exits the room.

Wyatt’s thankfulness disappears when she leaves him alone with the stern Gary guy, who returned to the room to check on the progress, and who has been essentially placed into the enemy line, because Gary _is_ definitely an asshole.

When Wyatt hears Mac’s voice from outside of the room, he knows doctor Laney left to talk to him and that’s fine, because after his blood is drawn by the nurses and more dressing is applied around the vexing tube that still hurts inside, his bed is rolled into the hospital hallway and he really doesn’t feel like meeting Mac right now.

He knows he should be grateful to Mac for doing everything he could to snatch him out of the jaws of slow and painful death, but the way how Mac prevented him to kill Crowe, makes him seriously pissed off. He just can’t see his face at the moment. Yes, mission comes first, but even that has its limits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone with medical knowledge ever reads this, please don’t die :D I did some research, saw some very ugly photos and videos and even consulted some things, therefore I hope I've got at least something right. Hospital environment in this detail is faaar beyond my knowledge, so I know it's off. In any case, I'd like to know how far from reality I am, and what would be correct, so if you feel like it, bring it on!


	2. The Outcome

Mac is pacing on a square meter just a few steps from Wyatt’s trauma room. Since the desperate cry echoed around the hospital walls, he didn’t hear anything from behind the door, and that can’t be a good thing. Now the whole hospital hallway is creepily silent and with the sanitizer smell, it’s getting on his nerves.

The tall doctor comes out of the room, but he doesn’t give Mac a chance to ask about what’s going on with Wyatt as he strides in the opposite direction and ignores everybody around. It stresses Mac out and he jerks away when his phone rings.

“Yes?” He listens to the voice of his Captain and in a second his face changes from agitated to shocked. “What? How the fuck this keeps happening to us?”

“I don’t know, Mac, but Parker had bulletproof excuse that Crowe belongs to them. We couldn’t do anything about it and he took him.” Reynolds voice sounds in the phone.

“That’s just fucking fantastic!” Mac tries to contain the rage, but still a couple of people in the hospital turns in his direction.

“How’s Wyatt?”

“I don’t know, the doctors are still with him and they won't let me in. But you better figure out some way how to get the fucking son of a bitch back to us, or I really don’t wanna know what Wyatt’s gonna do.” Mac ends the call, his phone almost cracking as the rage is burns out of him.

Feeling sick of himself, Mac replays the scene that happened less than hour ago. Wyatt had a gun aimed at Crowe, his hand shaking under the weight of it. Mac spoke to him first, told him they need him alive, that he cannot pull the trigger just yet. But Wyatt didn’t listen and before he could stabilize his hand to take that shot, Mac interfered and pushed him aside. Wyatt had all rights to kill the bastard, but they needed him, at least for some time. Then he could have his revenge. What Mac didn’t take in account was that Wyatt was barely standing and their clash send him on the ground, his side first.

“Fuck.” He hits the wall, the guilt from hurting Wyatt even more is getting the detained fury out if him. It was after that fall when Wyatt started to breath really badly. He fucked up big time and he’s sure that if Wyatt pulls through, gaining his trust again won’t be easy.

He leans against the wall and fighting with the urge to hit it again, he folds his hands over his chest, partially covering the blood stains on his t-shirt. He doesn’t yet find his composure when the door finally opens.

“Gill.” Mac hurls at her, fully back on his feet.

“He’s stable at this moment, okay?” she says squarely, stopping his attempts to get into the room with a placating gesture. “You can’t go in there now. Let’s talk outside, shall we?”

Mac frowns, but having no other choice, he walks with her towards the exit.

“So, do you two work together or what?” She asks when they both step outside. She leads the way to the trash bin that still holds her cup of now cold, but still good coffee and the chocolate bar, ruined by dirt.

“Yes, we teamed up couple months ago. What do you mean by stable _at this moment_?”

“That he is not dying, Mac,” she replies, tossing the bar into the trash. “But your mate went through hell, I've never seen anything like that. What the hell had happened to him?" she asks, a frown on her forehead.

"I told you, he's been taken and tortured. I watched part of it," Mac says, covering his face with his hand, trying to chase away the images.

"Does he have any family? Should we contact someone?”

Mac falls silent, realizing he doesn’t know, he had never asked.

“So you barely know the guy. You know I’m bound by law not to disclose anything about patients to non-relatives.”

“Oh, for fuck's sake, Gillian, don’t give me that shit. You know me and I _know_ him and he’s not exactly a sharing type,” Mac loses his temper for a second, almost yelling. Running a hand through his hair to calm down, he releases a resigned sigh. “I’m sorry, okay? I got him out of really big mess, I brought him here and I’m worried about him.”

Gillian looks around to check if they are alone and it’s her turn to sigh. “I don’t know much more yet. We fixed his breathing and sent him for some tests. I will know more once we get the results. He is fine for now, he’s going to live, okay?”

“Okay.” Mac accepts the answer, looking a little relaxed. He stares at her quietly, one part of him wanting to ask about her life and to tell her he’s really glad to have her taking care of Wyatt, but the words never make it out of his mouth.

She understands and makes a half sad smile, neither of them feel like smiling and laughing and sharing the good old times banter. “So, can you tell me who did this?”

And suddenly Mac knows what it’s like to have some higher authority restricting his ability to talk. “I can’t.”

“Thought as much. Can you at least tell me whether you caught them?”

He nods, feeling the guilt sting in his gut again. The fact that Crowe is not under Section 20 lock anymore, is going to make Wyatt deadly furious.

“Good. I gotta run back. You should go home. I can call you later when I have some news.”

“No, please, I need to see him,” Mac says resolutely. He has to tell Wyatt that Crowe is in hands of US military, that Parker personally took him away and even he is not really looking forward to this conversation, he really needs to see him. See that Wyatt is okay, breathing and talking. And he needs to say sorry.

Gillian shrugs. “You can wait in the waiting room.”

“Thanks,” Mac says, watching her as she drinks from that coffee cup, grimaces and then throws the paper cup into the trash too.

* * *

Not a full hour later, Wyatt is transferred to another room, still with the oxygen mask supporting his breathing, which is much better now, but from time to time, still a little ragged. As much as he appreciates that he can breathe, he feels ten times worse than before he was brought into the hospital. Everything, literally everything hurts and after they moved him from a table to a table to get their tests, he is exhausted to death. He would love to sleep, but the pain doesn’t let him and as he understood, they won't be too generous with pain medication until they know all things that are wrong with him. 

“I’ll go get the doctor, I’ll be back in a second,” the nurse that never left his side says and she almost collides with doctor Laney in the doorway. “Oh, good timing.”

The two exchange a few words about Wyatt’s state and then the doctor approaches him. “Sergeant? I’m going to take off that mask. If you feel like having it back, just tell me.”

Wyatt, being too drained from managing the pain so he wouldn’t squirm too much, has no reaction whatsoever.

The doctor isn’t surprised to see his body restless and covered in sweat. It was clear, when he was brought in, that he’s probably developed an infection from his injuries, and the heat that comes out of him, makes her feel sorry for him. There’s ton of work that needs to be done on him and he will be hardly able to sleep through that.

“How bad is the pain? On a scale from one to ten,” she asks.

“Not on that scale,” Wyatt says, not even looking at her. 

There is some annoyance in his wavering voice, but she is somewhat amused by his answer, besides irritation is not unexpected behavior. “Okay, let’s call it a _ten_ , then,” she determines.

“Whatever,” Wyatt whispers resignedly.

She nods and dictates the dosage of pain medication to the nurse, hoping it could brighten up the conversation she is about to have. “So, do you still have problem to recollect what the date is?”

Wyatt hesitates, and unfortunately, he has to admit he does, he simply can’t find that information inside his head.

“Well, today is Monday, May 14th, 2018, 19:20.” She awaits, hopeful that it might help him remember, but he only shrugs.

“Really great to know,” he says, sarcasm evident. “It’s just... confusing.” He adds, trying to save himself from sounding like a total idiot.

“Don’t worry, it will come back.” She smiles with sympathy. “So, if the pain was _ten_ before, what’s it now?”

“Six.”

Not the number she was hoping for, but at least some improvement. “I promise it gets better.”

“It’s fine, I can manage.” 

“Okay. I’ve got your results back,” she says, taking a seat on a stool next to him. “I’m going to go through them one by one, stop me or ask me anything anytime.”

Wyatt glares at her, not sure whether he wants to hear it as the unnerving feeling settles in his stomach.

“About your head - there’s no bleeding to the brain or swelling. Still, you do have a third-grade concussion, which explains your lack of time orientation. It’s also normal to feel dizzy, nauseous,  you might hear ringing in your ears-”

“Yeah, I know the drill for concussion,” he cuts her off subtly, his mood obviously still below zero.

“Alright. We are going to monitor your neurological symptoms every few hours to make sure they’re not getting worse. So, don’t be surprised that nurses will come here to wake you up.”

“What about that thing?” He asks, pointing to the chest tube. Maybe it’s just better to ask about what he wants to know, than listening to all the details.

“That thing needs to stay there at least for the next three days,” she answers and seeing Wyatt’s displeased face, she adds, “then we’re gonna take it out and your lung will be as good as new.”

Although it doesn't make Wyatt feel any better, it was a nice try to reverse the bad news. He lets it go, because there are worse things that terrify him to the point he is afraid to ask.

“What about my hand?” Wyatt overcomes the apprehension, his voice shaking a little. His chest tightens when the doctor takes a deep breath and for the first time during the conversation loses the eye contact.

She regrets it the second her glance drops at the colorless floor as his rising anxiety speeds up the silent beeping in the room. “The bullet that went through your palm fractured metacarpal bones of your ring and middle finger and severely contused your nerves and tendons. None of them is interrupted completely though, plus there is no significant bone loss, which is good news. But the repair of the bone structure will require several surgeries. Our hand surgeon already knows about you and he’ll start the reconstruction first thing in the morning. It may not be an easy way, but there’s a pretty good chance that your hand will be functioning completely fine.”

As Wyatt listens to her words, the pain in his palm starts screaming louder and plunging deeper. He tries to convince his fingers to move, but he finds himself not able to do it. “And if not? What’s the worst-case scenario?”

“Well, there is possibility of defects like stiffness, chronic pain, grip weakness, worse motor function in those two fingers...” She really doesn’t want to name all the bad things that may happen, because he’s going to hear it all again the next day and because he is obviously on the edge of panic attack. Or a rage outburst more likely.

“Could I lose the hand?”

She rises her eyebrows at him, surprised how far this man’s worry can go. “No,” she says, but looking into his eyes, she decides to be completely honest with him. “I mean, medicine is not an exact science, but it’s really highly unlikely. I know it looks scary now and yes, it’s gonna need time and hard work to heal. That’s what you should be focusing on.”

Wyatt looks at her as if to ask how is he supposed to do that, while he can’t stop thinking about how it could have been all good if he wasn’t such an idiot. This is not Crowe’s fault, this is all on him. If he had taken two more seconds to aim, it might have been all okay. He is so pissed at himself that it just spreads on the whole world. “So, what are you gonna do with it now?”

The doctor sighs. “Now we're gonna clean the wound thoroughly,” she explains. “And don’t worry, we will block the nerves in your wrist, so you won't feel a thing. Then we’re going to immobilize the hand with a temporary splint to prevent any dislocation or more damage before the surgery is scheduled.”

She gives him a minute to absorb it and react, but he just stays silent, immersed in the terrifying slideshow, looking for professional errors and what he should have or shouldn’t have done. He just can’t accept losing his job because of an injury that he had caused.

“Sergeant?” She asks looking for words how to tell him she’s not done yet. “If it makes you feel any better, this was the worst news I’ve got for you.”

Wyatt’s reaction goes in the opposite direction from what she expected. He exhales sharply through his nose, gritting his teeth and it’s the first time she sees his pale face catching an evident shade of red.

“What is it?”

“It’s just fucking ironic, you know?” he smiles bitterly, his eyes glassy. “I fired that shot, I fucked up the hand myself.”

This information was unforeseen and Doctor Laney is momentarily speechless. She opens her mouth couple of times and shuts it as no words reach her mouth.

“It was ridiculously stupid to try escape. I’m an idiot, I should have just leave it be and…” Wyatt ends it there, feeling his voice might break. It is enough already that his eyes are glistening.

“Don't blame yourself for anything that happened to you out there. Human brain is programmed to survive, so whatever you did in attempt to save yourself, it was inherent decision.”

“Yeah, that’s great, but now I'm crippled and can't do my job for god knows how long, if ever.” Wyatt closes his eyes, feeling ashamed for saying that, but he just can't contain the inner rage anymore. He hates that the monitors behind him display every little piece of emotion that happens inside him. 

“You are not crippled, Wyatt. You're going to be fine.” She places her hand on his in a calming gesture. She eventually understands to where is his anger coming from. “You've got four broken ribs and you need so many stitches that I’m not able to count them. Plus, the collapsed lung. That all puts you out of job for months either way and I bet those did not happen to you by your own doing.”

“Yeah, I’ve got Mac to thank for the lung.”

“What?”

Except the uneven painful breaths, Wyatt is silent, regretting his words. He is not going to forgive Mac this one any time soon, but neither he should toss the blame on him. There’s Crowe for that, on the top of everything; and he can’t resist to the image of killing him over and over.

“Sergeant?”

“I’m sorry. Please, just forget I said that. I don't know why I'm so...” He looks at her, his expression softening. Having no clue why he’s so edgy and open at the same time, he just decides to shut up and listen.

"It's okay," she says.

“Please, go on.”

“Alright,” she agrees and starts browsing through her tablet to make sure she doesn’t forget anything. ”You had better luck with the gunshot wound to the thigh, the bullet only grazed the bone, but didn't damage it. You are still going to need a physical therapy to walk without limping, but it’ll heal. Same for the stab wound on your arm, no severe damage and it should heal pretty well.

“From all the open injuries, you’ve got already running infection. We are giving you antibiotics, that should deal with it and I know you must be tired to death, but we have to take care of the hand and then there’s a few hours of work on the other wounds. I am afraid you won’t get much of sleep during that.”

Wyatt slowly shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he says looking at the ceiling blankly. Maybe he should really focus on getting better and stop feeling sorry for himself. He watches as the doctor stands up and rolls in a tall table, placing it next to his bed.

“I’m gonna get right on that,” she says, turning to a narrow rolling cart with lots of drawers, that the nurse prepared for her. “Could you please put the hand on the table, palm facing up?”

Wyatt gazes the hand with pained grimace. He’s been avoiding to look at it for the past hour and he shouldn’t have break the rule. It’s awkwardly swollen and the true color of the hand is not recognizable over the dried blood. When he lifts the hand, it feels heavier than usual, as if it wasn’t his. He sends a signal to move with the fingers, but the response is only sharp pain and he automatically starts panicking about losing the hand.

“I’m not sure if I can still move the fingers, or feel them,” he says with a little more worry than he planned, but the palm really doesn't feel like attached to his arm anymore.

“Let me see,” she frowns and puts gloves on her hands. “The color of your fingers looks good, the blood is circling through them, so try to concentrate only on the fingers and try to move them. You know it’ll hurt, but you can do it.”

He shakes his head as he stares at his unmoving and unhealthy colored hand. He hopes she just tells him to give up, but that doesn’t happen and maybe it’s a good thing, because eventually, when the sweat sprouts on his forehead, the fingers move.

“Good, now tell me if you feel this?”

“Yeah,” Wyatt’s heart drops when he feels the touch.

She nods positively, glad to see some of his distress to go away. “See, this is a good sign. It’s going to be okay,” she states after checking all fingers.

Wyatt follows her movements to stay in the picture and deep down he hates himself for being such a pussy, but when he sees her sterilize his wrist and grab an inch long syringe, he just can’t help a sigh. Nevertheless, after the whole ordeal he couldn't care less about how weak he appears to others.

“After this, you definitely won't feel your fingers, or your hand,” she warns him, waving with the syringe in front of him. “So, don’t freak out,” she blinks at him.

Awesome, she noticed his cowardness too.  

“This is going to be uncomfortable, so just relax and try to breathe through it,” she says and aims the needle to the middle of his wrist. Knowing it's still sore from the restraints, that he had probably pulled against a lot, _uncomfortable_ was definitely an understatement of how this procedure will feel like. She waits for his exhale before injecting the needle deep into his wrist and pushes the plunger down.

As the whole length of the needle disappears inside of his wrist, Wyatt can't help a pained grunt. And it gets worse when she starts releasing considerable amount of the anesthetic and his hand swells up from it. Feeling sick, he lays his head on the pillow and closes his eyes. The pain’s tolerable, but the nausea from it isn't and he just wishes for it to be over.

“Okay, now you will feel the needle from the side of your wrist,” she informs him, maneuvering carefully his hand to a different position and then tapping against the skin to find the correct spot. 

Wyatt looks at her and then at the hand, clearly scared stiff. Only now he understand that she wasn't talking only about one injection. His breathing speeds up as she inserts the needle in again and keeps pushing the tip further right under his skin. "Oh shit," he groans when the position of the needle is changed for the third time and some of the content in the syringe is plunged inside his hand, and then again lead more further.

"Just breathe through it, Sergeant. Maybe it's better if you won't watch it?" she suggests. 

Wyatt rests his head against the pillow again, but it brings no help. "I hope at least you are enjoying it, doctor, because I'm definitely not."

"Oh yes, I'm totally having the time of my life here," she jokes and gives him wink in amusement.

"Good."

"Do you want a break?"

"No," Wyatt says quickly, before he can change his mind. He would love to take that break, but his dignity is already too low for his liking so he forces himself to withstand a little more poking. 

Wyatt lets out a relieved breath when the needle is finally extracted, but it is clear that she is not done yet. The needle travels into his hand multiple times from various sides and his face goes pale. Wyatt almost asks her to give him the offered break when she’s finally done.

Unfortunately, the sickness doesn’t go away just like that. He breathes through it, trying to soothe himself, because he really doesn’t want to throw up on top of everything. It would be undoubtedly very painful and ugly business.

The doctor throws the used equipment and her gloves to the bin and then turns to Wyatt, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, I know it must have hurt," she casts an apologetic smile. "As a reward, you will feel no pain in your hand for the next six to eight hours."

Wyatt nods, still feeling queasy and breathing heavily. His whole wrist is still sore from the needle strikes but at least the pain in his palm really does fade away, so that’s quite helpful.

“Sergeant?”

“Yes?” he replies quickly, distracting his mind by thinking about how many times she already called him _sergeant_ and how much he likes it or not.

“Everything okay?” she asks, reading the sickness from the pale and sweaty face. He nods, not exactly convinced it’s true, but she takes it. “Um, I’m gonna give you a few minutes to let the anesthesia work fully. The man, who brought you in, Mac - he’s waiting here and wants to see you. Do you feel up for it?”

God no. No Mac, not right now, he needs to feel a little composed to face him, which is definitely not right now. “Could you, please,” he breaks off, realizing they are probably friends or something, so he should be careful in what he tells her. “You know each other, right?”

“Yes, we do,” she admits with narrow eyes, standing up from the stool. He is obviously not eager to see Mac and he is probably worried what she might tell him. “But I can just send him home, if you want me to.”

Wyatt is not surprised to hear that. This doctor can see through the skin, apparently. “Yes, could you, please, tell him to come tomorrow?”

“Sure. And… would you like me to mention that it was me who said no visits?”

This offer does surprise him. She is on his side for some reason, now he really wants to know how the two know each other and whether Mac pissed her off or something. “That would be really nice of you.”

“No problem,” she nods. "And is it okay for you to inform him about your state?"

"Yeah, you can do that," Wyatt says.

“Okay. One last question, do you want us to call anybody else? A family?”

“No,” Wyatt slowly shakes his head, maybe even saddens a bit. If someone from his family still lives, they would be thousand miles away and not eager to see him anyway.

“I’ll come back in a few minutes. If you start feeling sick again, just press this button, okay?” she hands him over the device for calling help, just to be sure. The color has returned to his face, so he should be fine.

“Thank you.”

Wyatt is left alone for the first time since he’s been admitted. And it’s enlightening to have no one around to feel pity for him or poke him with sharp things or move him around. For a few moments his pain is there just for him and he doesn’t have the need to pretend and hide how miserable he feels. Or show that, which is worse but he’s just too fucked up to help it or care.

Aside from that, this is his first chance to inspect in peace, what has been done to him. At some point, he was too overwhelmed by the agony to keep track. He purposely ignores the tube and lets his eyes travel over his chest and stomach. He cautiously touches the shattered, bloody skin, that feels clammy and strange. Muttering a silent _oh shit,_ he counts about seven long cuts that might be candidates for suturing, the others will just heal by themselves. His right hand then reaches to his face, assessing the damage on his cheek, and having a hard time to recognize his own face, he rather stops.

He snorts, thinking that he had never planned for a carrier in modelling anyway, so to hell with that. The next goes his leg, which he tries to bend in knee, but gives up, deciding that provoking the pain even under the painkillers isn’t a good idea. At last, he lays eyes on his hand, still motionlessly lying on the table, slightly elevated and bloody. Completely painless though.

“Wonderful, Wyatt. Just fucking wonderful.”

* * *

The waiting room became too unnerving, so Mac just keeps wandering around the hospital, distracting himself from the guilty thoughts. Still, he stays close to the ED, checking the hallways every couple minutes, hoping to see familiar face.

“Thank god. How’s Wyatt? Can I go talk to him now?”  He hurls at her, second time this day, when he spots her looking for him in the waiting room, mildly annoyed by his absence.

“No, I’m sorry, I can’t let you go in.” She says sympathetically, knowing that if the two guys are really friends and their lives often depend on the other, this is probably hard on Mac too.

“Why? What happened?” The worst pictures attack him, either he must have gotten worse, or maybe, Wyatt’s still pissed too much to see him.

“Nothing, no worries, really. I just don’t recommend to disturb him right now.”

“He doesn't want to see me, does he?”

“Mac,” she starts, but he stops her.

“Please, I really need to tell him something. It’s important and it’ll be just a minute, no more.” He tries to convince her.

“Mac, he is extremely exhausted and in pain, he’s sleeping now and I really don’t want to wake him up, if I don’t have to. It’s going to be very long night for him, we still need to take care of all his injuries. So, I am sorry, but no. Just go home and come tomorrow. If you want to tell him something, you can tell me, I will pass it to him.”

“Oh fuck, I can't tell you.” Mac swears, running his hand through his hair. “Can you at least tell me how bad is it?”

“Yeah,” she nods, lowering her voice. “Apart from the lacerations all over his body, he’s got concussion, broken ribs, collapsed lung, his hand’s a total mess,” she goes from head down and counts it on her fingers. “Honestly, the estimate of recovery time is about two months or longer.”

“Two months?”

“It takes a while to heal broken bones and the hand is a real issue, he’s gonna need several surgeries followed by hard PT. If he was an accountant, he might get back to work sooner, but with what you do...”

Mac is slowly getting exasperated from her words. “But he will get back on his feet… fully?”

“Probably yes, but it’s too soon to tell. The hand is still a variable. There's a risk he might never regain full motor function in the hand...” she says sadly. Unfortunately, the reality is, that soldiers are usually discharged from duty with this type of injury.

“Jesus fucking christ, I’m gonna kill that motherfucker.” The rage inside him could explode any minute and there’s nothing to ventilate it on. It might be a good thing that Wyatt won’t hear about Crowe’s _release_ today. It would be too many bad news for a one very much screwed up day.  

“I am sorry, Mac,” she says sincerely. “I know it’s harsh, but all in all, it’s not that bad. I mean, it’s wonder what today’s medicine can do and he does have a chance to go back to your danger-filled life, so that’s something.”

“Yeah, that’s something,” he repeats after her, the words not really reaching his brain.

“I’m gonna head back to him, he’ll stay on this floor till morning, so if you come around seven, he should still be here.”

“Okay, please, tell him that I’ll come tomorrow.” Leaving the hospital without seeing Wyatt on his own eyes, plants a sinking premonition, that something bad is going to happen. He gives her a piece of paper with his phone number and gets on his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on the medical note:)  
> Described nerve block is probably NOT really as much painful as I described, so if you will ever need to get that, don't worry, they will drug you! I left out any drugs for the obvious whump reasons. But to be at least a bit accurate, I'd explain the lack of analgetic drugs by saying it might contradict with other meds that Wyatt is already on, plus I think that those drugs might be messing up with breathing, and as he's having a pneumothorax, and multiple other injuries... so it kinda makes sense to me... (to a no-medical-person :D ) to suffer those few very ugly needles without drugs... yaay 8)


	3. Turning Point

The night has been very long. Wyatt somehow survives all the needles, threads and more needles, and even manages to sleep through some of doctor Laney’s ministrations. He also tests what it’s like to throw up with four broken ribs, a hole in his chest and about seventy stitches all over his body. Nothing that he’d like to repeat, so the nurse that woke him up and caused the whole vomiting business with her pen light, promises not to do it again. She also calls for the Gary guy, who is even more grumpy than the first time Wyatt saw him. Apparently, the more squirming in pain, the more gets Gary irritated. On the other hand, Gary grants him a generous dose of pain meds, which is really nice of him, because it allows Wyatt to take the best two hours of sleep he’s ever had. Until he is, again, woken up by the nurse for a quick check-up.

She keeps her promise and leaves the pen light in her pocket, sympathetically informing, that the next day, she should use it again. And even he really doesn’t want to throw up again, he wouldn’t refuse Gary’s medicine.

It feels too soon after the last wake-up, when his eyes slowly open up again. The room is quiet, there’s no one asking him questions, but he can sense someone else’s presence in the room and he’s sure he heard the door open.

“Hello, Mr. Wyatt. Missed me?”

Wyatt's heart skips a beat or two. It’s not possible, there's no way Novin would let Crowe escape and this is just the concussed brain messing with him. He blinks a couple times and looks around confused, but Crowe is, in fact, still standing right next to his bed with a gun aimed at him.

"No, you are not hallucinating. I am really here. Surprise."

"Wha-...?" He gasps, unable to control the fear, which is very inconveniently reflecting on the heart rate monitor.

"Whoa, calm down, soldier," Crowe says, raising the gun higher, targeting Wyatt's head. "We don't want some pretty nurse to rush in and get a bullet in her head now, do we?"

That threat stresses Wyatt out even more and the beeping speeds up, despite to his desperate trying to get his vital signs under control and quiet down the monitors. Crowe mercilessly turns away from Wyatt and redirects the gun at the door.

"No, no, you f-fucking asshole, I'm.., I got it," he pleads, trying to slow down his heart rate with deep breaths. There's no way he could allow him to hurt anyone in the hospital.

"Good boy." Crowe points the gun back at Wyatt, when the beeping decreases.

“How did you get out?“ Wyatt says through his teeth, still breathing laboriously, worried over what happened with his team.

“Oh, McAllister didn't tell you?”

“Didn’t tell me what?” Now Wyatt really regrets that he sent Mac away. That was just another stupid thing to do for such a petty reason.

“Let’s leave this discussion for later.” Crowe leans closer to Wyatt and extends his hand to touch Wyatt’s face, not giving him any chance to pull away. The opposite, he tilts his head to see his whole face. “The doctors patched you up pretty well," he comments as his hand slowly travels down over Wyatt’s body, as if he was admiring his work.

"Yeah, careful or their work will go to waste." Wyatt’s voice is hushed as his body starts to shake under the touch.

"Oh, Wyatt, don't worry. I am not here to hurt you, or kill you,” Crowe pulls away, making Wyatt breathe out with relief, mainly because his heart has started pounding too fast again. “For now, we are going to play out one small hospital break," Crowe reveals his plan with creepy smile.

"I am not going anywhere with you, you sick asshole.”

Wyatt’s protest is rewarded with one quick unexpected hit to the head with a gun barrel. The blow doesn’t cause any bleeding, but adding it up to the concussion, it feels like if a box of nails just exploded inside his head.

"It's funny you think it's optional," Crowe laughs and starts walking around the room as Wyatt seems indisposed for the moment, unable to do anything but curl up. “I don’t think you understand, Mr. Wyatt. I am leaving with you peacefully or with a killing spree in the hospital. Your choice, I am that kind.”

"Alright, alright,” Wyatt forces himself to speak over the pain that doesn’t want to fade. This night visit just became a mission and he must focus. He knows, he has to leave with him or he could endanger someone else. And maybe when they get out of the hospital, he can try to save himself. “It's just not gonna be so easy," Wyatt says, pointing at the tube leading inside his chest.

Crowe makes two steps towards Wyatt to take a look and pouts. "Gross."

"Yeah. That’s one thing we both agree on.”

"Looks like you're gonna do some pulling."

"I wish I could, but my hand’s kinda out of order and I can't reach there with the other one." Wyatt tries to reach the excessive dressing around the tube, hoping that the stiffness in his body eased a bit. Unfortunately, it seems even worse and there’s no other way than to let Crowe do it. It terrifies him, but he needs to get him out of here at any cost. He doesn't let himself think of what troubles it might do to him, if he just took the tube and pulled it out. 

"Don't look at me," Crowe shakes his head with disgusted grimace.

As if on call, the door slowly opens and doctor Laney enters the room. When she notices the gun pointing at her, she just freezes, gripping the door handle tightly.

"Oh hello, doctor. Today's our lucky day, Wyatt. We’ve got a doctor and a cute one," Crowe bursts out laughing, approaching the doctor slowly. “If you could close the door, sweetheart. Please.”

Doctor Laney glances at Wyatt with a silent question what is she supposed to do. He nods, looking even more terrified than she.

“I am so sorry, doctor Laney,” Wyatt tells her when the door is closed. It is probably no coincidence she entered the room, he couldn’t control himself, she noticed it on the monitor somehow or some nurse told her; and she went to check on him.

“Welcome to the party, doc. Me and Mr. Wyatt here, we’ve just found ourselves in a situation that requires a doctor and here you are!” Crowe gestures at her in a very theatrical way.

If nothing else, this is a hint for her, that Crowe is a psychopath and therefore unpredictable. She eases her posture a little, when the psychopath stops aiming at her and directs the weapon to Wyatt. It makes her feel terrible, but it’s probably natural reaction.

“What do you want?” she asks the only question that sounded harmless in her head. She could try to run away, but her instinct tells her that doing what the man wants may be safer for her and her patient.

"I want you to unhook mister Wyatt from all the machines and tubes, because I am taking him for a little trip."

Or not. 

"Doctor Laney, you gotta do what he says," Wyatt says, his voice steady. For the first time while being on the job, Wyatt hopes, that the bad guy will be given whatever he wants without protests and no questions asked. For the doctor’s sake.

"Where do you want to take him?" Doctor Laney ignores Wyatt's advice. She is not sure what to do, so she’s simply stalling, because neither of them realize how big risk is to let Wyatt leave the hospital.

"That's none of your business, doctor,” Crowe snaps, “just pull out that damn thing so we can get on our way."

“No! I can’t.” 

“You can’t?” Crowe comes at her, head tilted to the side and the intimidating gun targeting her again.

"Crowe," Wyatt says, hoping to get Crowe's attention back to him. "Crowe!"

But Crowe stares at the doctor, waiting for her answer. Except the beeping, there is silence in the room for a moment and it seems like all oxygen in the room disappeared.

It is hard to decide between her self-preservation and doctor’s thinking and sensing it’s probably a bad answer, she says it anyway, the doctor in her winning. "I… I just don't think it's good idea to do that."

Crowe gets furious instantly and with three long steps, he reaches Wyatt and hits his head with the gun again, harder than before, drawing blood this time. Wyatt just turns to his side and screams into the pillow, eyelids pressing together.  

"No, don't…” doctor Laney yelps, covering her mouth, being aware of what another blow to already concussed head could cause.

"In case I haven't made myself clear, you’re gonna do whatever I tell you, regardless of what you think." The rampage is radiating from Crowe’s body and the doctor sees it clearly, but from her point of view, she has to try to save her patient.

“You don’t understand, if I remove it now, his lung will go into collapse again and he might d-”

“Just fucking do it!” Crowe yells, cutting her off; and it is a miracle that this time no one gets punished for the doctor’s refusal.

"It’s okay, doctor Laney, it’s okay. Please, do it." Wyatt finds his shaky voice and while he can't blame her for her protests - as she just pointed out that he might die, he’s sure he can’t take another hit to the head either. He wouldn't be able to get Crowe away from her, away from hospital.

"Alright, okay. I will, I will. Just don’t hurt him, please,” she gives up the internal fight finally, regretting she tried and caused more harm than good. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she repeats apprehensively, making her way to Wyatt. She didn't see it coming, she just assumed she can handle the situation, but she lost the battle.

“It’s okay,” Wyatt tells her, surprised how calm his own voice sounds. “Just do what he says, okay? I’ll be fine, and you too.”

She nods couple times, trying to believe his words. And she might believe the part about her, but she is almost sure that he will not be fine.

“Good doctor,” Crowe smiles triumphantly and points his gun to the seat next to Wyatt’s bed. “Sit there and do your thing.”

She does but then she tests Crowe’s patience again. “At least let me do it properly. I can’t just pull it out. I need some supplies if you want to make it out of the front door without him bleeding out.” It is a little lie, he wouldn't bleed out, but it gives them some time.

Crowe thinks about it for a moment as if calculating whether it suits his plans or not. “Fair enough,” he agrees, waving at the cabinets, where the medical supplies are stored.

She searches through the cabinets nervously, unsure where to look for the things she needs, because only nurses have this knowledge. Throwing some supplies down on the floor, she finally finds everything and sits back. Seeing Wyatt’s body tensing, she glances at Crowe. “Will you let me give him something for the pain?”

“No,” Crowe shakes his head, his psychotic smile widening as he greedily watches the scene. “Let’s make it interesting.”

She doesn’t know the criminal at all, but she expected that much and so did Wyatt.

“Sergeant.” She focuses on the task, trying to ignore the gun next to her and sound as calm as possible. “I promise you, this is nothing like the insertion, okay? It’s gonna be real quick.”

Although this small feat is the last of his problems, Wyatt’s anxiety raises. As much as he wishes to have the irritating thing out of his body, he certainly doesn’t want to go through the insertion again. And if he is going to survive all this, he’s sure it’s coming.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen. When I remove the dressing and cut the stitches, I need you to hold your breath, okay?” she instructs and starts removing the gauze around the tube.

“Right.”

She disregards the fact that it actually doesn’t matter at all, because he is going to get seriously worse without the tube even if she pulls it out by the book. She explains the whole process anyway, stalling and hoping they will be saved soon. “While you’ll be holding your breath, I simply pull the tube out in a one motion. When it’s done, you can exhale and start breathing normally. Question of two seconds.”

“Yeah, two seconds,” Wyatt reassures himself as his breathing becomes shallow, his body reliving Gary’s big moment.

“Trust me, Sergeant,” she says, feeling his distress. “Deep breaths,” she says, her voice supportive. With the task at hand, she buries her own fears. She has to as she hasn’t even told him the worst thing yet.

“Hurry up,” Crowe says, obviously full of excitement.  

To the doctor's surprise, she continues to ignore Crowe and encourages Wyatt to do the same by following her breathing. “Now the bad news. After I pull it out, your lung will collapse in a matter of few seconds,” she informs, feeling absolutely miserable. “You can go with it for some time, but it won’t be pleasant, you’ll be struggling for breath like when you came here.”

“It’s okay,” he tells her, terrified by her words, but not letting her or Crowe to see it.

“No, it’s not,” she says very quietly, not wanting to risk any more impulsive violence. She removes the dressing and cuts the stitches anchoring the tube. She presses a sterile piece of gauze above the tube entrance and grips the tube with the other hand. "I am all set, Sergeant. Are you ready?"

Wyatt looks at her tentatively. "Just give me a sec." He blurts. Not to postpone the intervention, but suddenly having a problem to draw air into his lungs whatsoever. Courtesy of the growing anxiety. Once he regains the control again, he gestures her to carry out.

The doctor watches him closely, waiting for him to hold the breath and when he does, she pulls the tube out as quickly as she promised. Wyatt exhales with a grunt, a little startled from the wild movement inside his chest, but aside from that and quick shot of pain, it’s not that bad.

“Are you okay?” she asks, sealing the wound.

Wyatt gives her a nod, exhaling with a relief that one bad thing is behind him. She overcomes her own beliefs and hopes for a miracle that his lung might be just fine, but two or three breaths after, he starts to deteriorate as expected.

“Great job, doctor,” Crowe interjects. “Now take off the rest.”

“Wait,” the doctor says and Crowe is slowly running out of patience. “If I disconnect the sensors, the nurse will come here immediately.”

Wyatt sighs, knowing that Crowe will not hesitate to kill that girl. He might kill the doctor too, now when he doesn’t need her anymore.

“Put it on yourself, doctor Laney.” Wyatt comes up with a perfect plan of getting the doctor out of harm’s way and not drawing anyone else in.

“What?”

“The nurse won’t notice if it’s only a short lapse, right? Put the sensors on you.”

She understands now and looks at him with a terror in her eyes. It’s clear he’s saving her life while very likely losing his own.

“Mr. Wyatt, I’m impressed,” Crowe pats his shoulder with unnecessary force, that makes Wyatt wince. "Saving lives from a hospital bed." Gesturing with the gun, Crowe indicates the doctor to switch the sensors. "Do it."

She walks around the bed to the monitors, passing Crowe by. Her hands begin to shake from having the criminal on such a close range and she feels her heart pounding louder. Hoping that her heart rate won’t alarm the nurse either way, she takes the t-shirt of her scrubs off and with a swift move shifts the wires to her chest. The monitor not even noticing.

"Smooth," Crowe mutters. “Go on.”

Doctor Laney does the same for the oximeter, blood pressure meter and then withdraws the IV with the antibiotics, fluids and other meds that keep Wyatt going.

"You can go now," she says, her voice low and breaking a little. There’s nothing she can do to stop this madness.

Wyatt looks up at her, wanting to thank her and/or apologize to her, but not really doing it, as it would sound messed up and it would make her feel worse.

"You heard her, Wyatt? Now get up," Crowe interrupts their silent exchange and pokes him with the gun.

Wyatt gets to a sitting position with a help of the doctor and then falters, realizing he is naked. And it’s not so much because of humiliation or shyness, but being without all the layers leaves him absolutely unprotected and very inconvenient for running in public.

“I hope you brought me some pants,” Wyatt ventures and swings his legs from the bed, trying to stand on his injured leg gingerly.

Crowe waits for him to get on his feet and then snorts. “Not that I wanted to. But it was the order.” Then he makes two steps back, picks a small bag from the ground and throws it at Wyatt.

Wyatt is taken aback by that information. Last time he checked, Crowe’s orders were to kill Wyatt and the rest of Section 20. Not to bring him clothes. What the hell had happened?

“Stop staring and get the fucking clothes on you.” Crowe says nervously and while Wyatt wrestles himself into the pants and shirt that were provided to him, Crowe approaches the doctor. He presses the gun to her temple and unlocks the gun’s safety. “Now listen to me, pretty doc.”

Doctor Laney tenses from the cold touch of the gun and his freak voice, feeling his breath on her face.

“Leave her be, Crowe,” Wyatt steps in, but Crowe turns and pushes him away with a perfectly directed blow into Wyatt’s sternum, which makes him indisposed, leaning on the bed, panting.

“Stay there Wyatt, or she’s dead. At the end of the day, I really don’t care and you know it.” Crowe reminds him with deadly serious look in his eyes. Turning back to the doctor, he continues, “so now, you’re going to stay here at least ten minutes after Mr. Wyatt and I leave. Don’t even think about calling someone. If you do, they are dead. And then I come back for you.” He takes a strand of her hair between his fingers and tucks it behind her ear. His hand then travels down along her neck, over the collar bone, stopping right above her bra. “Is that clear?”

The doctor only nods few times, not able to breathe, not able to to say a word, but still doing her best to hold back the urge to scream for help.

“Good,” Crowe grins and takes his hand off her. “Thank you for your cooperation, doctor. It’s been a pleasure." He enjoys her hopeless expression and her relief when he pulls the safety back on and then he turns to Wyatt. Grabbing him by the back of the shirt, he handles his stumbling figure towards the door.

“Hey,” the doctor finds a last piece of courage and calls behind them. “If you want Mister Wyatt alive, be careful with him, please, and don't...," she pauses, finding the words that the criminal might take in, "don’t hit his left side. Or his head.” She knows it’s not much, but if there’s a universe in which her patient survives, this could increase a chance to make it there.

“Noted,” Crowe nearly bows to her in irony and closes the door.

* * *

With a huge amount of luck, they sneak out of the hospital unseen. Crowe is pushing Wyatt in front of him, directing their way to a silver van on a farthest side of the hospital parking lot.

“Crowe,” Wyatt stops when there’s nobody around, in a need to catch his breath. “Tell me what the fuck is going on?”

“Keep going,” Crowe shoves him forward coarsely, almost making him fall. Wyatt groans and too afraid of getting another hit, he resumes the limping walk.

He leans against the van, when they reach it, not facing Crowe, just waiting for whatever there is to come.

“Turn around.” Crowe orders.

Wyatt turns to him with a resignation all over his face. All the injuries that has been done to him scream at him; he can feel blood running down under the bandages as some of the stitches or cuts ripped open and every step on his right foot sends a flashing pain from his thigh up and down his body. His chest hurts more and more with every breath as the lung slowly loses its ability to work. He is in no shape to fight or even think about that, because his head is killing him too.

“Take that thing on your hand off.”

Wyatt shakes his head slowly, not really getting the point of this. Why not just kill him? His ability to self-preserve is surprisingly still up, so he gets the splint down and throws it on the ground. “Why?” he asks, holding the hand close to his body, only a thin white bandage protecting it now.

“Move away from the van,” Crowe orders, ignoring his question. Then he opens the back door of the van and grabs handcuffs from inside. “Get in.”

Wyatt enters the van and sits on one of the metal seats that are alongside the car. Crowe cuffs his hands to the car construction behind the seat, ignoring Wyatt's hisses of pain from the intentional ruthless manipulation with the broken hand.

“Just fucking tell me!” Wyatt said angrily to hide the hitching breath, hoping that Crowe might just hit him and send him into darkness. The pain in his hand has just become unbearable and he is tired of it.

Having Wyatt tied up, Crowe ducks down and looks up at him. “Alright, Mr. Wyatt. Now I can tell you. Unfortunately, for you, Section 20 was forced to hand me over to the US military. It looks like I know something so important, that your government can’t afford to have me in hands of British forces.”

“And they just let you go...”

“Oh no, not _just_.” Crowe grins. “They even made a deal with me.”

“Why would they make a deal with a fucking psychopath? And what the fuck do you want with me? Why don’t you just kill me, right here, right now?” Wyatt provokes.

“Calm down, Mr. Wyatt.” Crowe reaches out and puts his hand on Wyatt’s leg almost as if trying to comfort him. “I don’t want to kill you. Not anymore. Turns out, that your former commanding officer, Colonel Parker, has a soft spot for you. So instead of killing your whole team, I am now ordered to let you live.”

“So you kidnapped me from a hospital, that’s the way how you do that?”

“You are not listening, dear Wyatt. The immunity from Colonel Parker doesn’t apply on your team. The opposite. Now two of my employers want your team dead,” Crowe points at the half empty boxes with explosives on the other side of the car and casts a crazy laugh, proud how he’s gotten his stuff handled. “That’s the way how I do it.”

“So you use me to draw them out,” Wyatt speculates, visibly disturbed.

“Bingo!” Crowe exclaims. “Well, more like draw _in._ And you're gonna enjoy the big blast, I'm sure. And all this with a blessing from the almighty Colonel Parker.” He throws his hands to the sides and gets out of the van.

“Fucking asshole,” Wyatt snarls furiously.

“Oh yes. Shame we don’t get to choose our COs. Now sit tight.” He closes the door and walks to the driver’s seat.

* * *

Mac wakes up during the second ringing of his phone and picks it up not even checking the number. _Mac, this is Gill_ , the shaken up female voice echoes in his ear and sets him into alert mode.

“Something’s wrong with Wyatt?”

“He was just forced to leave the hospital.”

“What?” He darts out of the bed, hoping it is just a nightmare and he will wake up any second.

“I came to check on him and there was a man with a gun. He threatened him to kill everyone here if he doesn’t leave with him. I'm so sorry, Mac, I couldn't help him.” Doctor Laney breaks off, fighting the tears.

“When exactly?”

“They left just two or three minutes ago.”

“Do you know who was it? Did you get his name?”

“I'm pretty sure, Wyatt called him Crowe.” She is surprised that she remembers, because during the whole situation she hardly knew her own name. “He said he wants to take him for a trip - literally and he didn't seem like he wanted to kill Wyatt, but acted like a psychopath.”

“Yeah, I know who he is. He's the one, who took Wyatt the first time.” Mac starts pacing around, his brain switching into full working mode, adrenaline replacing the fear that started flooding his body.

“You told me you’ve arrested him,” the doctor shouts.

“We did…, _fuck_!” Mac snaps, hitting a table in front of him. “Do you have any idea where he took him? Where they went?”

“I'm still stuck in Wyatt’s room and I shouldn't be-”

“What? Did Crowe do anything to you? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I am. I'm just… uhm, Wyatt is in really bad shape, you’ve got to find him and get him back to hospital, ASAP,” she urges.

“I will, Gillian, I will,” he makes a promise, more to himself than to her. “Do you have security cameras outside the hospital?”

“I think we do. Let me check it, I’ll text you the security company name?” she suggests, releasing the wires from herself, not really checking if it was already ten minutes or not. There is no yelling, no shots fired, so they are probably already god knows where.

“Yeah, just text me the name,” Mac confirms and ends the call, instantly dialing another number to alarm the team.

* * *

The ride doesn’t take long, although to Wyatt it seems like it does. Every bump on the road flares up a sharp pain that prevents him from breathing as the broken ribs play against him. He tries to free himself half of the way, but to no avail, so he stops, saving his evaporating strength for another moment, if there is such.

The back door gets open almost the second after their arrival and to Wyatt’s surprise, it’s Colonel Parker, who opens them.

“As promised, Colonel,” Crowe appears next to Parker and jumps into the car to untie Wyatt.

“So it is true, you son of a bitch,” Wyatt says, piercing Parker’s eyes, obviously fighting between hurt and rage.

“Wyatt,” Parker begins, “let me explain-”

“Don’t try to explain yourself, you cold blooded piece of shit,” Wyatt cuts him off, the rage winning. He ignores Crowe as he uncuffs him and when he throws him out of the car, somehow gently this time, Wyatt launches at Parker, not able to accept the betrayal. “Are you really doing this?” he asks, the hurt in his eyes evident. 

“I don’t have a choice,” Parker admits with a shrug.

Wyatt steps away from him and snorts in disbelief. “What makes you so sure they will come for me?”

“That doctor already called McAllister, and this is Section 20, Wyatt. They don't leave men behind.”

“Yeah, that's your fucking kind of thing.” Wyatt retorts and having trouble to stand straight on his legs, he leans against the van, taking a moment to see where they took him.

They park next to abandoned square warehouse with no windows, that looks almost like it could fall down any second. Other than that it's just plain fields with no trees or forests around. No places to hide or take a cover. Great.

Seeing that the short word exchange between Wyatt and Parker most likely ended, Crowe interrupts Wyatt’s attempts to scan the area and grabs him by his shoulder. “Move.”

“I am not going anywhere,” Wyatt yanks out adamantly. There’s no one else for them to hurt yet, so he decides that if he is about to be used as a fucking decoy for a death trap, he is certainly not going to make it easy for them.

Crowe tries to seize him with more force but Parker steps between them and pushes Crowe away. “Wyatt, don’t make it worse for yourself.”

“What can be fucking worse that this?” Wyatt growls, referring to getting his team killed. _Again_.

Parker looks away to search for a way how to show Wyatt the bright side, but not finding anything, he proceeds to brute force methods himself and pins Wyatt to the van, grasping him by his neck. “You are going to get inside and do everything we tell you, because that’s the fucking order, Sergeant!” Parker slams Wyatt against the van, not minding his state, but not able to ignore the pained expression and glassy eyes.

“Fuck your order, Colonel. I am staying, you can kill me right here.” Wyatt says, breathing hard, when Parker finally releases him.

“Wyatt, I am not trying to kill you, I am saving your fucking life! Do you have any idea how big risk is it for me? To even be here?” Parker yells, shaking off the urge to hit his protégé, who is barely standing, barely talking, barely breathing.

“I don’t really care.”

“I’d be dead if anyone from the top knew I’m helping you! Unfortunately, I don’t have the power to save you all, but I _can_ save you, and I will. Even if you are ungrateful and stubborn as a child!”

“Helping me? So now I should be thanking you?!” Wyatt sneers with a portion of disdain.

Parker loses all his hopes for doing it the easy way and gestures Crowe to move Wyatt inside the building. As soon as Crowe gets on a close range, Wyatt swings his good hand at him, using all strength he's got, knocking Crowe down on the ground. The act is definitely not for free, Wyatt is on the edge of a collapse himself, but it's definitely worth it, no matter how much it will fall back on him.

"That's enough," Parker reacts sharply, “Hands,” he commands, pulling Wyatt’s hands harshly behind his back and secures them with plastic ties. Wyatt hisses when Parker tightens them enough to deepen the cuts from before and chases away the worry over the broken palm, that is now throbbing as the blood flows down and increases the pain.

Crowe gets off the ground, wiping away the blood under his nose and although it gives small satisfaction to Wyatt, he knows that it doesn’t help to anything. He can only hope that the Section 20 won’t be so stupid to go for him.

“You just made a big mistake,” Crowe says to Wyatt with piercing look and grasps his arm to drag him inside.


	4. Price You Pay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter comes from a song Price You Pay by UNKLE, album War Stories. It’s intensely depressing and although it hardly matches any scene in this chapter, it totally fits into Scott Shields’ tension style he composes for Strike Back soundtrack. One of the best soundtracks for military TV shows that ever existed!

Everybody from the team gathers in the base, all of them silently counting on Jensen’s hacking skills. He has been able to crack the security company firewall, get the footage and retrieve a license plate of the van.

“You’re not going to believe this. The car is registered to Colonel Parker,” Jensen announces, staring at his computer screen.

Mac stops his nervous pacing. “What? Are you sure?”

“Yes, Sergeant.” Jensen confirms, pointing at the proof on the screen, this time not even feeling offended by the doubts. They all know that without him it would take hours, not minutes, to get the info.

“What does that tell us? That Parker took Wyatt?” Reynolds says, narrowing her eyes.

“Or that Crowe escaped in Parker’s car.” Donovan offers the less bizarre option.

“Wouldn’t be a surprise if the dickheaded bastard actually worked with Crowe,” Novin says.

“Either way we’ve got to find them,” Mac stops their theories. It doesn’t matter who or why. He can’t stop blaming himself for leaving Wyatt alone and vulnerable in the hospital. It should have occurred to him and he should have been there with him, even if it meant sitting in the depressive waiting area. “Jensen, can you get a GPS location of that car?”

“Already on it.” Jensen says while typing. It doesn’t take long before he gets a map with a red circle in the middle on the big screen. “That’s where the car’s right now. There’s an old storage house in that area. Far around only vast fields. The storage owner is… US military.”

“Yeah.” Novin raises her eyebrows. “I think it’s clear what this shit is about.”

“Yes, this was too easy. Parker is trying to lure us there,” Reynolds says, crossing her arms over her chest, shooting a searing glance at Donovan.

“I don’t know anything about that.” Donovan says, her voice as honest as possible and the others seem to believe her. It is not a surprise that Parker or the US army itself keep some things a secret. 

“Alright, it’s a trap. So we go there and let them think we’re trapped,” Mac says after a moment of silence, everybody now looking at him, waiting for some appendix for the great plan. “One of us just needs to get there on foot.”

* * *

The inside of the warehouse is half empty, half filled with wooden boxes full of god knows what. The boxes are located around the walls on both sides of the building from the ground up to the high ceiling. A wide concrete pillar supports the middle of the warehouse and around it there’s enough space to host a dancing competition.

Crowe leads Wyatt next to the wooden boxes on the left from the front entrance, having a good view point on both - the front and the back door. He shoves him forward instead of just letting him go and forces him to face him.

Wyatt is sure that the only thing that keeps him up is the small residue of pain meds and he really isn’t looking forward to when it fades off completely. And he knows it is going to be soon. 

Crowe scans Wyatt for a moment, grinning at him, as if he was trying to figure out something. “The doctor said, _‘don’t hit his side, don't hit his head’_ ,” he quotes the doctor’s words and smirks.

And with that, it’s clear what should Wyatt anticipate. Crowe is going to get his retaliation for the small nose bleed.

Wyatt tenses up defensively, but there’s not much he can do, so when the expected gut punch comes, he only bends over and chokes on the flaring pain. He instinctively tries to protect hist stomach with his hands, pulling against the ties, but they hold and only cause him more agony.

Crowe holds him up, not letting him fall down yet and adds two more unmerciful blows, sending Wyatt on his knees, coughing and gasping.

“Maybe she would like more if I ruptured your spleen then,” Crowe says delighted, hauling Wyatt up and then letting him finally drop on the ground with well-aimed knee strike, not hard enough to cause some real damage, but sufficient enough to rip open some wounds.

'Spleen is on the fucking left side,' Wyatt would love to say, but for now and for several future moments, he is just unable to say any words. And maybe that's a good thing.  Looking down, he can see blood soaking through the bandages and his shirt and over the nauseating pain he really isn't sure if it’s only some stitches that ripped or his whole stomach.

“Get up.” Sounds in Wyatt's ears.

He only shakes his head, implying that he can’t and stays on the ground, panting.

Crowe stays quiet, giving him a moment, knowing he can't hurt him as much as he would like to, Parker’s orders. Then he ducks down and forces him to sit. “You’re so damn lucky I can’t do much more.”

“Aren’t you tired of it, Crowe?” Wyatt asks, his voice raspy. He himself, is very much tired of it. Everybody has their limits and Wyatt feels that he reached his own.

Crowe eyes him, waiting patiently with his creepy smile for what Wyatt’s got to say. He can see that the man hit his bottom and he can’t wait to hear the great words of plea to kill him.

“Why don’t you just kill me? That’s what you wanted in the first place, right?” Wyatt is disgusted by saying the words that could destroy his life, but this is his last chance of ruining whatever plan Crowe’s got with Parker.

“What are you proposing, Wyatt?”

“Kill me, get the fuck out of here and live your life, huh? Fuck Parker.”

Crowe casts a laugh, that shifts into a smile that Wyatt hasn’t seen on him yet. It’s sad and somehow humble.

“That would be nice, wouldn’t it, Wyatt? Sadly, your government is almost as lethal as I am, they don’t mess around. Your marvelous CO took my wife and he is not going to release her until this is done,” Crowe looks down and closes his eyes for a moment, obviously having some kind of inner battle. “And the fact that I’m sadistic son of a bitch doesn’t mean I don’t care about that woman, even if I haven't seen her in years.”

“Heartbreaking story. You almost made me cry,” Wyatt risks and it’s a surprise that nothing but a faint smirk comes back as a reaction. “Tell me then,” he starts, seeing that Crowe is in sharing mood and he could get some info out of him. “Why the US government wants Section 20 gone?”

“That’s thanks to my brilliant mind,” Crowe whispers with a grin, his attitude changing back to Crowe’s usual self. “They think I told them the big secret.”

Wyatt snorts. “You made it all up, didn’t you?”

“Well, what can I say, Wyatt.” Crowe stands up, throwing his hands to the sides. “I might have added a little drama to it, but it’s true what I said before. Your country is corrupted. I just haven’t said a word to anybody.”

“You asshole. You’re just getting them killed for nothing,” Wyatt almost whispers through the rising rage, that he’s got no energy to use as an advantage anymore.

“For money, of course. My apologies, Wyatt. You’re gonna have to suffer through it.”

* * *

Mac and Reynolds arrive at the warehouse closely before the dawn and pull over next to the silver van. The surrounding is deserted, as expected, so they get off the car, swiftly taking cover behind the two cars, both geared up, guns ready.

“I guess we are supposed to go inside,” Reynold says, sounding a little disappointed, when there’s no movement around them.

“Wait a moment.” Jensen’s voice comes through the coms. “Just an update, the warehouse’s been decided to be demolished.”

“Great, so now we know what’s inside, and how they want to cover it up.” Reynolds remarks bitterly and looks at Mac, who is still very much convinced that going inside is good idea and therefore makes no reaction on the demolition intel. “Jensen, do you see if someone’s inside?”

“Yes, ma’am, there are three heat signatures in the warehouse,” Jensen’s replies, checking the video from a thermographic camera on a drone he managed to get above them. “Looks like two are on the left from the front entrance and one in right, close to the east wall.”

Mac relaxes with that information. _Three_ , they didn’t kill him, _yet_. “Novin, position?” Mac asks impatiently.

“Two minutes out,” Novin reports a little out of breath from running quarter of mile. “You’re doing the fucking pawn next time, Mac.”

“Stop talking and speed up,” Mac counters, not exactly in a friendly way. “Besides, you said you were the best with a sniper rifle,” he adds with well pretended chuckle, realizing he probably sounded like a dick.

“That’s right!” Novin laughs and speeds up anyway, sympathetic to Mac’s urgency. The fading darkness is still in her favor, so she can run straight and fast without nobody spotting her.

Having the building on a firing range she lays down on the muddy ground, sets up the rifle and checks the view through the gunpoint. “In position.”

* * *

Merely an hour after Crowe let Wyatt pass out, he is woken up by a surprisingly gentle shake, that startles him anyway, his situation coming to him very quickly. He doesn't know how long he was out. It feels like seconds, but he knows it must have been longer, because the pain meds wore off completely and every piece of his body hurts at a full blast.

“Looks like your friends are finally joining us.” Crowe grins.

Wyatt looks around confused and he's relieved when he doesn't see them anywhere. Maybe they decided not to go inside and get away, but that's a big false hope there and he knows it. He tries to get up, sensing it's what Crowe wants, but the unyielding pain throws him back down.

“Come on, Wyatt, act like a soldier and get over it,” Crowe scoffs.

The slightly insulting remark brings Wyatt to think that pretending he’s worse that he really is, might actually play into his cards, so he looks past his dignity and fails another attempt to stand up, not that he really had to fake it so hard. “I’m gonna need your help with that.”

Rolling his eyes up, Crowe steps across him to face his back and hoists him up by his arms. In a split second, Wyatt turns quickly to get off the grip and in the same moment elbows Crowe into his side. Not wasting any time, Wyatt puts his weight fully on his injured leg and kicks Crowe under the knee. Crowe slumps down with a cry, his surprised expression changing into pained grimace.

The quick movement costs Wyatt his balance as the dizziness engulfs him, but he just can’t give up. If he can distract Crowe long enough, the team might have a chance to take Crowe and Parker down. He easily trips up Crowe’s other leg, sending him on the ground. Seeing Crowe on his knees drives Wyatt to keep going even when his body protests profoundly, threatening it could shatter into million pieces with next collision.

It’s wonder that Crowe doesn't make any attempts to defend himself but Wyatt knows it’s coming sooner or later. He forces his brain to focus and begs his body to hold for a little longer and kicks Crowe repeatedly into his stomach, returning him back the retaliation.

Crowe finally collects himself and without overly trying he grabs Wyatt by the ankle, pulling him down. Wyatt lands on his back with a loud thud, the impact knocking the wind out of him.

They both lay on the ground for a brief moment and it’s no surprise that Crowe makes it on his feet faster. Wyatt’s eyes are closed shut, the fight is most likely over, but he can hear Crowe laughing close to his face and that’s okay. It means he still doesn’t have control over the situation, and even if he was just aiming to shoot his brain out, it’s fine. The only worry is, where the fuck his team is, because his options to divert Crowe’s attention are almost depleted.

“Oh Wyatt, you make this so exciting!” Crowe slaps Wyatt’s face to induce his eyes to open. “You are really good. I must give you that, you almost had me there. But,” he smiles triumphantly, “you are broken, Wyatt. There’s nothing you can do now.”

“Fuck you.” Wyatt whispers, exhausted. Crowe’s voice still echoes in his ears and over the overwhelming heat and thumping in his head he’s not sure what he’s saying. Gathering the last resort of energy, he kicks Crowe down the last time and even over trying to crawl away, Crowe is at his side in a blink of an eye, shifted into berserk mode. He lifts Wyatt up again, and throws him against one of the wooden box. Crowe withdraws his gun and pins Wyatt to the box with it.

“As much as I enjoy this, enough is enough.”

“Then shoot me, asshole.” Wyatt dips into Crowe’s eyes and he’s almost sure that he would do it, if the door just didn’t open. “Shoot me!” Wyatt yells, hoping it’ll give Mac time to aim and shoot.

“Don’t,” Mac shouts out, not having clear shot without taking Wyatt down with Crowe.

Crowe turns in Mac’s direction and he swiftly pushes Wyatt in front of himself, knowing he would be dead otherwise.

“What the fuck are you doing, Mac. Just shoot him and get the fuck out of here. The place is loaded with C4.” Wyatt yells, earning himself a vicious hit into his kidneys.

“I know, Wyatt.”

Crowe secures Wyatt in a tight stranglehold and keeps his gun pressed on his head, repeating to himself that this is the moment and he can’t screw up.

“Good to see you again, McAllister,” Crowe says, still hidden behind Wyatt’s figure. “Now put the gun down or I’ll shoot his brain out.”

“Don’t listen to him, Mac, he’s not gonna kill me.” Wyatt anticipates another kidney shot for having the audacity to speak, so it's no surprise when it comes, but the power in it, is. It leaves him completely stunned, wanting to cry, but unable to get enough juice for tears.

Crowe feels Wyatt sink, so he tightens the grip around his neck to keep the body up as a human shield and he unlocks the safety lock. “Put the gun down.” He dictates slowly, not really sure what he will do, if Mac doesn’t obey. His order not to kill Wyatt might be clear, but if the situation would direct itself the wrong way, he’ll just kill everyone including Colonel Parker, and he would deal with everything later.

Seeing Wyatt is still out of it, Mac decides to retreat and just count on their plan, however risky it is, and he places his HK rifle on the ground. “Alright!”

In the same moment, Parker enters the warehouse from the backdoor, pushing Reynolds in front of him with her own gun. “Go,” he tells her sharply, shoving her towards Mac.

Wyatt slowly fights back to reality through the silencing agony, wishing that he’d never joined the army, that he’d never met this son of a bitch, because first thought that comes to his mind is that they are really fucked, that he is really gonna get them killed and there’s no getting away. “No,” he gasps desperately, not so much under the weight of physical pain as from the personal failure and not even dying could save him from the guilt.

“Don’t worry, Wyatt, it’s gonna be over soon,” Crowe whispers into his ear with the familiar creepiness that sends shivers down Wyatt’s spine and drives him to release himself from the grip. As much as he tries, he finds out he just doesn’t have it in him. It only hurts him more as all his attempts are quickly cut off by Crowe’s full force.

“I am truly sorry, Section 20,” Parker states. “This really wasn’t my decision,” he tries to justify his actions cowardly, but he knows there’s nothing he could say to remove the disgust in faces of his captives.

He makes them both to cuff themselves to the pillar in the middle and after searching them for weapons, he faces them with an expected question: “Where’s Novin?”

It’s the first time when Wyatt realizes that maybe not everything is lost. The days long martyrdom probably messed his head up to the point where he forgot about one of their team member. And she would never let them just go alone. Only dark side is that Parker probably thinks the same.

After a moment of silence, Reynolds finally answers. “She didn’t come with us.” Her voice is emotionless and coarse, but it doesn’t seem to do the trick and Parker doesn’t believe her.

“Hm, what do you think, Wyatt? Would you believe her?” Parker asks, amused by that answer and turns in Wyatt’s direction. Crowe released Wyatt from the grip a few moments ago and now he just stands close to him, ready to intervene in case Wyatt tried something.

“She doesn’t even know we’re here,” Mac says, deliberately diverting Parker’s attention back to them, because Wyatt keeps his mouth shut and Mac learned what kind of reaction comes from Crowe, when one doesn’t answer a question. “Nor Donovan.”

Parker’s amusement is gone. He is deeply displeased with that information and looking directly into Mac’s eyes, he gives out a terrifying order, that internally burdens himself too. “Crowe, you can help me out here, right?”

“No problem,” Crowe smiles widely and not giving Wyatt any time to react, he grabs his injured palm and squeezes. Slowly first, but seeing that Wyatt is able to control the pain with silent groans and deep breaths, he squeezes hard.

Wyatt hates to give Crowe the wanted reaction, but when he feels the broken bones move and grind about themselves, he screams his lungs out. He tries to move away but to no avail, because Crowe gets him back in his grasp.

The sound makes Mac's ears ring and when he starts yelling at them to stop, they just don't hear him. The scream dies out and even the echoing fades, but Crowe still doesn't stop. He loosens the grip, allows Wyatt to drop on the floor, but he goes down with him, still holding the hand.

“Where is Novin?” Parker repeats his question when Wyatt’s scream changes into weak whining.

“Jesus fucking christ, we are telling you the truth, Colonel,” Reynolds says, her voice breaking as the words hurt.

And another piercing cry runs through the walls of the warehouse, finishing in desperate gasps as Crowe crushes the bones and tissue. The thin white bandage on Wyatt’s hand turns red and blood starts dripping from his fingers to the floor, but it’s no reason for Crowe to stop.

“Alright, just stop it,” Mac yells, thinking fast, no longer able to watch his friend squirm in pain for their lies, that are not getting them anywhere. “I’ll tell you. Just stop hurting him for fuck’s sake!”

Parker gestures at Crowe to ease off, not even looking back at him and with risen eyebrow, he waits for Mac to talk.

“She’s outside of the warehouse, okay? Ready to shoot the fuck out of you both once you step out of this shithole.”

Parker smiles and despite all odds, he walks to Wyatt and kneels down next to him. “It took them quite a while, huh?” Parker strokes his hair and turns his face to see the lines of tears. “Where exactly is she?”

Wyatt releases a ragged sigh hearing that question and before he prepares for another devastating wave of pain, that he knows it’s coming no matter how long it’ll take Mac to tell them the truth, Crowe presses his bloodied fingers against the wound again. “Stop,” Wyatt pleads inaudibly, not having enough air to scream and just curls up to get away from Parker’s degrading touch.  

“I’m telling you shit if you don’t step away from him.”

“Fair enough.” Parker stands up quickly and orders Crowe to follow him. They leave Wyatt behind them, profusely sobbing and panting.

“She’s on the east from the warehouse, about sixty yards away.” Mac tells him the truth ignoring Reynolds’ disapproving look. He counted on plan B and he knew that keeping on plan A will probably cause some pain to them or to Wyatt in worst case, but they had to try. Plan A was safer, gave them the advantage of surprise, but Wyatt already suffered enough and having Novin out on the watch is still going to make Parker’s escape complicated.

Parker glares at Crowe, obviously recalculating his plan too. “You, go get the car and park it in front of the exit,” he says throwing the car keys at him. “And take Wyatt with you. She won’t shoot her own.”

“Leave him alone,” Mac steps in, already expecting they won’t take his offer. “Take me as a cover.”

“You shut the fuck up,” Parker brushes Mac aside and helps Crowe to get Wyatt standing up. He tilts Wyatt’s head to see his face covered in a mixture of sweat and tears and he would be lying if he said it doesn’t bother him to see his soldier so broken. “I promise you, I’ll get you back to hospital, if you behave,” Parker’s eyes meet with Wyatt’s and if a look could kill, Parker would be dead instantly.

“Fuck you,” Wyatt spats, closing his eyes as the world starts spinning too fast from the change of altitude. Truth is, that the word hospital sounds surprisingly good. He is worried sick about his hand, because if it was bad before, it must be catastrophic now and although he cannot see it, he definitely feels it. He pushes aside all his minor worries and concentrates, because if Novin really is outside, this is their chance.

* * *

“Novin, if you get a chance, just shoot the son of a bitch,” Donovan gives her permission to kill Crowe when they hear he’s coming out.

“No shit,” Novin says to herself, turning off her mic. There’s no way this bastard is getting away alive this time. She keeps focus on the gunpoint and aiming at the front entrance she sees Crowe sneak out of the warehouse with Wyatt on his left side as a protection.

She moves the gun at Wyatt and she’s sure he just gave an almost invisible nod in her direction. “I am ready, Wyatt.” She notes quietly, her breathing as slow as it can get, knowing that without Wyatt’s help, she’ll never get that shot.

It's about 20 yards to the car and their pace is thanks to Wyatt's state comfortably slow. Crowe hides behind Wyatt's frame very thoroughly, never getting his sight off him or his handgun off his chest. Novin doesn't see the gun, but she can see Wyatt's distress and deduce it from that.

“Come on, Wyatt,” Novin murmurs, becoming a bit nervous when they are halfway through and Wyatt still doesn’t take any action. “Don’t make it too dramatic.”

Until the last moment, Wyatt really doesn't know how to get himself out of the view without catching a bullet into his chest, but for the first time in days, good luck doesn't turn his back on him and Crowe drops the car keys to the grass.

He stops Wyatt right away and as soon as he loses the eye contact, Wyatt seizes his chance and pushes Crowe away with his body, quickly avoiding the gun barrel and the bullet that comes out of it. Crowe manages to stay on his feet and before he charges against Wyatt, another louder gunshot reverberates around the spacious landscape. The bullet goes through Crowe's shoulder, only grazing it.

"Fuck!" Novin swears, quickly trying to aim again.

Crowe recovers too fast and jumps at Wyatt, taking them both down. An old sharp pain spikes inside Wyatt as he impacts partially on the injured side, the luckiness leaving him too soon.

* * *

Mac with Reynolds look at each other, hoping that none of the two shots fired hit Wyatt. Not even Parker knows what just happened outside as he's too much of a coward to get to an approximate range from the door.

“That fucking idiot!” Parker scolds, drawing out his gun and switching his targets imprudently.

“Colonel,” Reynolds speaks up, her voice steady. “You can’t just shoot us. Think about it, we transmit everything that happens here to the top. And if this goes out it’ll cause international incident.”

“Don’t try to be diplomatic, Captain. I was fucking ordered to kill you.” He moves closer, shaking with the gun furiously.

“Not like this, Colonel. Listen to me,” she says, forming the next words in her head, really trying to be the diplomat. “You have to let us go. Novin’s gonna kill you if you don’t and Donovan’s gonna make sure to leak out an info about US government killing British special forces. Your every fucking word out on the public. How does that sound to you?”

“Like a bunch of fabricated bullshit,” he laughs her off and moves one step closer to enjoy her disillusion. But that one step is exactly what they need and Mac swiftly kicks the gun out of Parker’s hand. Then he shoots his leg up and sends Parker on the ground.

Parker searches where the gun landed instead of getting out of their scope, so he takes several more strikes from Mac, while Reynolds tries to extend her foot to reach the gun. The metal cuffs digs into her skin, but she doesn’t let herself to feel it and gets the gun under her foot on the second attempt. She smoothly and carefully slides the gun along the pillar up into her hand and in that peculiar position directs the gun at Parker.

“Think about it again, _you_ fucking idiot.”

* * *

Shivers run through Wyatt’s body as the dewy grass dampens his clothes. It doesn’t feel so bad against his hot skin and makes it easier to blink away the blurriness in his vision, but before he’s able to come into focus, Crowe crawls off him and maneuvers Wyatt’s body to shield himself.

Having his gun still aimed at Wyatt’s head, Crowe squeezes Wyatt’s injured hand, knowing it’s reliable way to disarm him, but Wyatt surprises them both. Biting his tongue to divert the pain, he grasps Crowe's wrist tightly with his good hand and swirls around, dislodging Crowe’s wrist in the process. The risky move makes Crowe cry out and along with that pull the trigger. Wyatt isn't even sure if the bullet missed him as the sound next to his ear sets off incredibly loud ringing inside his already hurting head, but he continues the fight anyway.

He bounces off the ground and crashes on Crowe's hand with his shoulder, forcing him to release the hold on the gun as he puts his weight on it.

There are few attempts to kick Wyatt off, but he is unstoppable. He pulls himself away from Crowe and it’s a miracle that he makes it on his feet and picks up the gun with his hands still behind his back. He staggers a few feet towards the warehouse, giving Novin the space to finish it.

Losing every leverage on Wyatt, Crowe heaves up, and before he can act on his flash decision to run to Wyatt instead of the car, Novin finally puts a bullet into Crowe’s stomach.

Crowe freezes. He looks in Novin’s direction and then at Wyatt. “I guess this is where it ends.” He says with a grin and then quickly withdraws a gun that he hid under his shirt.

Novin is the one who fires first, the bullet penetrating Crowe’s upper arm, making him drop the gun. Soon after his knee follows and by the time all his limbs are shot through, Wyatt slowly closes the distance between the two of them.

They stare at each other for good few moments, Crowe accepting his defeat and Wyatt relishing the sour taste of retribution, determined to watch Crowe slowly die, as long as it takes.

"Wyatt?" Novin appears next to him, placing her hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he replies, not taking his eyes off Crowe. He watches him fall on his knees and when the bloodied plastic ties are finally gone, he makes the last step to him.

“My wife…” Crowe coughs.

“Fuck your wife,” Wyatt shuts him off and swings at him, bringing him down. He collapses shorty after Crowe, spitting out the blood that has been forming in his mouth, tired of swallowing it. He doesn’t even realize Mac is by his side to ease the impact.

* * *

Mac takes his eyes off the road several times per minute to see that Wyatt is still breathing. He can hear the wheezing constantly, but looking at the raising chest and still red lips assures him that his lungs are at least partially working. He wonders why it doesn’t feel like a déjà vu. It hasn’t been even a day since the first time he broke a speed limit to get his friend to a hospital and apart from some details, it’s so similar. And it feels so wrong.

A noisy truck that passes by interrupts Wyatt’s sleep and he almost jumps out of the passenger seat.

“It's okay, I’m taking you back to hospital.”

Wyatt’s panicked expression fades away when he recognizes Mac next to him. He slowly leans back, striving to take his poor attempts to breathe back under control. “Crowe?”  

“He's dead,” Mac gazes him, hoping to see some relieve in Wyatt’s eyes, but there’s nothing but pain and sadness. “I am so sorry, Wyatt.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

As the awkward silence shrouds them, Mac grits his teeth, afraid that it went too far beyond intervention. There’s no good enough joke, no good enough news, no good enough apology. “We dealt with Parker, he's gonna make sure that Section 20 won't be targeted anymore.”

Wyatt only nods, studying closely his hand, keeping it up and obviously trying to induce some movement in his fingers.  

“How bad is it?”

“Bad.” He breathes out sharply when his fingertips perform maybe microscopically visible motion, and turns his head away from Mac to hide his face and the tears forming in his eyes. He maybe felt they moved, but the price is too high and he’s sure he’s not doing it ever again.

“Wyatt, maybe you will never play piano, but they’re gonna fix you up in the hospital and you’re gonna come back.”

“I’m done with Section 20.” Wyatt states, trying to sound resolutely, but his voice breaks in the middle.

It catches Mac off guard. Not that he had never heard this sentence from Wyatt before, but this option really wasn’t on the list of Mac’s that day conclusions. He knew there was a chance that Wyatt just won’t be able to rejoin them, but Wyatt leaving on his own volition never crossed his mind.

“You’re fucking with me right now, aren’t you?” Mac scolds, his voice a little too loud and angry. He liked him, he trusted him and he didn’t want him gone. He didn’t want to lose the cheerful and sarcastic guy, who usually jokes around even when he’s in a grasp of deep danger.

Except that now he keeps quiet, apparently too drained to argue and still pretty sure about his decision.

“For fuck’s sake, Wyatt, you know I had to stop you.” The silence provokes Mac to raise his voice again. “I’m not a fucking psychic, I couldn’t have known that the fucking pig will get Crowe and send him against us. Against you. I was just doing my job. And you would do exactly the same.”

“It’s not because of you.”

Mac stares at him completely shattered, because this is even worse and he can’t do anything about that. It means that Wyatt is lost. Scared of going back to action, no longer welcoming it and living on it. They don’t say another word and Mac only hopes that Wyatt is just too broken and too much in pain to see through it.


	5. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Almost_ no whump in this chapter, but I couldn't resist to a little bromancing and a fluffy happy ending...

His second arrival at the hospital is almost effortless as there are already nurses waiting for him with a gurney on the parking lot. Perks of having a friend inside the house. He closes his eyes as soon as he lies down, hoping that he might just pass out and avoid all that hospital buzz around him.

He almost does accomplish that, but he's woken up too early, already connected to annoying machines, with a needle in his elbow, mask on his face and no clothes on his body, with only a thin cover from his hips down. His breathing is still fucked up and everything still hurts, which means he just got here. When he thinks it couldn’t get worse, he opens his eyes to see the stone-hearted face staring down at him.  

“Oh fuck,” Wyatt mumbles, unintentionally out loud. Of course, it has to be Gary, he already used up the chance to get a nice and kind doctor.

“I take it that you know you’re back at the hospital.” Gary asks and receives a sluggish nod. “I’m doctor Marshall, by the way.”

“Is doctor Laney okay?” Wyatt croaks, the need to get the answer awakening him fully.

“You almost got her killed, what do you think?” the doctor snarls, acting far out of line.

Wyatt looks at him sheepishly, having an acute urge to ask for another doctor, because this man probably hates him, but he doesn’t dare to say that.

“She’s fine.” One of the nurses offers a little bit of hope that not everybody in the hospital is pissed at him.

“I need to move your arm away and place the chest tube again.” Gary announces rigidly, while pulling Wyatt’s bloody arm apart from his body. Wyatt, squeezing his eyes shut and while tensing all his muscles, he lets him do it. It doesn’t go without series of hisses as every single movement with the hand hurts, but he manages to get the hand out of the way.

When they rip off the dressing on his side, he opens his eyes again, feeling anxious from having the side utterly exposed to a certain pain that he knows to expect. He finds Gary next to him, ready to inject him the anesthetic, meaning that Gary is not going to torture him completely without any blockades, and it’s strangely comforting to know that.

He curls his good hand into a fist as the needle pierces his skin the first, the second, the third time, and maybe even fourth time, but he no longer feels that. To Wyatt’s surprise, Gary is very thorough with numbing the side.

No warning comes before Gary sticks his finger into the hole between his ribs and when Gary finally says something, he’s addressing only the nurses, treating Wyatt almost as a training dummy. When the transparent plastic thing is passed to Gary’s hand, he, again, speaks to the nurses, instructing them to hold the patient down and Wyatt just hopelessly tries to imagine that he is somewhere else.

The process is much faster than the first time, but definitely not less painful, the opposite in fact, but Wyatt just clenches his teeth and suffers through it, because there’s nothing he can do. His face is covered in sheen sweat and his body starts to shake with the last burst of pain, but he doesn’t make even the tiniest sound, not wanting to give Gary the pleasure.

When Gary is satisfied with the tube and Wyatt's improving breathing, he keeps ignoring Wyatt a little longer, while talking to the nurses about things that Wyatt mostly doesn’t understand. “Sir, is anything hurting you right now? Out of the ordinary?” Gary asks when he places Wyatt’s hand back next to his side, leaving it elevated.

For a moment Wyatt isn’t sure if he heard correctly, but seeing the doctor looking at him and waiting for some response, he shakes his head. It is a lie because that fucking tube hurts intensively, but Wyatt knows that it is not what they want to hear.

“Are you sure? What about your stomach? There’s some bruising that wasn’t there before. On your back too.” Gary insists while scanning Wyatt’s abdomen.

Wyatt thinks about it and shakes his head again, because everything hurts, just nothing out of ordinary; but one meaningless plus point goes to Gary for noticing. Gary barks some requests at the nurses and soon he gets an ultrasound into his hand, to see for himself. The prettier nurse then hastily rips off the blood-soaked gauze that remained on his stomach, feeling sorry for hurting him, but Gary’s order was _do it quick_ , so she complies.

“You should feel some relief now,” another nurse tells him while pushing some liquid into his IV.

Wyatt looks at her gratefully, too exhausted to thank her. Besides, Gary is now playing an ice hockey on his stomach with the ultrasound handle as a stick and not even the magical liquid streaming through his veins seems to help with that pain. When Gary looks down at him to tell him to keep still, he just grits his teeth and he fights against the need to beg them to stop.

Gary reports something about slight internal bleeding and orders another set of CT scans as he hardly sees everything over the damaged tissue. “Also get doctor Johnson down here to check the hand and find some intern to suture him again.” Gary shifts back into ignore-the-patient mode and directs himself out of the door. “Find me when you get the results.” That’s Gary’s closing speech and then he’s finally gone.  

Wyatt sighs, feeling much better with the pain meds in his system and without the asshole around. On the other hand, he probably deserved that, he endangered him and all his colleagues, other patients, and they were lucky that nobody got hurt.

“Don’t take it personally, Mr. Wyatt. Doctor Marshall is a prick, to everyone,” one of the nurses whispers and smiles at him, while the other goes away to fulfill Gary’s orders. “Was it the truth, that nothing really hurts too much?” she asks worriedly as he’s been silent since Gary accused him about almost killing doctor Laney.

“Yes.”

“I take your word for it,” she nods. “I have to remove that bandage on your hand and I cannot give you any more painkillers now, so please forgive me,” she announces very gently, sure he’s going to feel it.

“It’s okay,” Wyatt breathes deeply, closing his eyes and lets the nurse to do her job.

* * *

The next day in the morning the ugly experience with Gary feels like long forgotten past. Wyatt hasn’t seen him that day anymore, so he assumed that either his shift ended, or he slept through his visit or there was nothing important to tell.

Very young and hesitant intern sutured the cuts on his abdomen again and a complete opposite of the intern, quite old and experienced looking doctor took him for a surgery of the hand, that went according to everyone very well.

They let Mac to talk to him after that surgery and it wasn’t bad at all to see familiar face. It made Wyatt realize how much Mac actually cares, because he waited six hours in that fucking hospital to have a short visit and to tell him a few supportive words. He  never even mentioned their discussion in the car.

Lying on the regular ward, alone in the room, silently dealing with the discomfort and the pain that stubbornly ignores the painkillers, he finally feels like this horror movie ends. The more when the door opens and a redhead doctor enters his room, greeting him with a smile, not leaving out his rank as usual.

“Doctor Laney,” Wyatt says hoarsely, surprised to see her so positive and calm. “I was hoping I’ll get a chance to speak to you. Are you okay?” he asks.

"I am," she replies, one eyebrow up. He is the one hurt here. 

“I am sorry, this shouldn’t have happened.”

“Sergeant, you have nothing to be sorry for. Nobody’s blaming you,” she says automatically before it clicks to her. “Oh, ignore doctor Marshall, please, he tends to be a little overprotective and well... bitchy to his patients in general. He was far out of line this time. He should have come here and apologize." She says, genuinely angry at her colleague.

"I would rather not see the guy." Wyatt admits, his voice raspy.

"Right, you don't have to. You won't," she assures him. "I actually came to say that _I_ am sorry.”

Wyatt shakes his head, not seeing any reason why should she.

“I feel like I made it a lot worse for you back in that room,” she says, looking troubled.

“You didn’t.” Wyatt states and it is only a little lie, because without her it could have ended much more bloody. "You were great, actually, you kept it cool." He nods at her, to let her know he means it. 

She snorts, not knowing what to say. Crowe had hurt him for her actions, that is something she can't forgive herself. She didn't do anything to help the situation. She even acted as his captors wanted her to and called Mac. Well, that was at least what Mac had told her. 

"Don't eat up yourself for the details. Just try to forget it all ever happened." Wyatt leans forward, forcing back a wince. He has a pretty good  of idea ofwhat is going through her head and he wants to help her feel better. For a civilian, a hostage situation is never easy to reconcile. 

She nods tentatively and looks down a bit nervous, shaking her head. Obviously eager to change the subject, she takes a seat next to his bed. “You were quite worried about getting your job back, and now I hear that you wanna quit.” 

“Aah, you talked to Mac,” Wyatt rolls his eyes.

“Yes, and I also talked to doctor Johnson, who operated your hand and he sounded pretty positive. So, what’s changed?” she asks, genuinely confused.

Wyatt is silent at first but she waits for the answer tenaciously, so he eventually swallows the discomfort from speaking about it, because she, of all people, could understand. “I’m horrified. Simple as that,” he admits with a shrug, feeling a little lighter already.

“Of what?”

“This was too close to losing everything. He could have killed you, or other people in this hospital, he almost killed my team. And I was helpless, I couldn’t do a damn thing.”

“I know how that feels.” Not only because she was stuck in that room with him, but also because she knows - as well as many doctors know, what it’s like to have a God complex and then lose all that piled up confidence. “But I am okay, am I not? _You_ made sure of that. And your team’s okay. You’ll be okay eventually, and you got the son of a bitch.”

“Yeah.”

“Sergeant, I know you got hurt and you went through something unthinkable, so I might sound really selfish right now, but the world is one bad guy less and that’s a win.”

A win was a word that never came up in this case until now, and the doctor is probably right. It’s just too soon to think about it that way.

“I am sorry if I said too much,” she backs off seeing that Wyatt doesn't like that route. “It's just, Mac sounded like he's gonna miss you quite a lot.” She remarks, smiling and frowning at once.

"Yeah," Wyatt says bitterly. Poor Mac, Wyatt thinks and finally remembers what he wanted to ask two days ago. “Where do you two know each other from anyway?”

“We went to the same secondary school.”

“Oh,” Wyatt marvels, not even trying to hide his sudden excitement. “I’m sure you’ve got some funny stories.”

“I've got plenty,” she laughs, glad to see some spark in him for once.

“Please,” he begs, sensing some good material. “Tell me.”

There’s only a small hint of hesitation before she actually starts to think about what she could tell him. “Alright,” she snickers, having a story on her mind. “Let me tell you a tale that probably kicked off Mac’s legendary reputation."

"Legendary? Sounds totally like Mac," Wyatt laughs. "Go ahead."

“Okay. This was the first year of secondary school, Mac was about 11 years old. Our art teacher had decided that we were going to practice a drawing a person and Mac volunteered to be that person, because it meant that he didn’t have to do any drawing, right? It did mean though, he had to stand on a table in the centre of the room with the rest of the class staring at him.

“He was noticeably enjoying that part until about five minutes before the end of the lesson. He asked the teacher if he could go to the toilet - and you probably know where this is going now,” she grins widely at Wyatt’s pained grimace. “Given we were so close to the end, we needed to finish the drawings and he didn’t make it sound terribly urgent, she told him to wait. So he tried, but couldn’t and he ended up pissing his pants while standing on a table in the centre of the room with the whole class staring at him.”

“Oh, this is gold,” Wyatt hardly suppresses the chuckle.

“Yeah, everybody loves to make fun of Mac. This story spread across the whole school and he earned several cool nicknames, he sort of liked PeeMac, but oh god, he hated when they called him pissy pants. It followed him until he went away and joined the army.”

“Doctor Laney, you’ve got to tell me more.”

* * *

The departure from the hospital is not as spectacular as he had hoped for. There’s no relief, no closure, no never-coming-backs. He’ll be back sooner than later, in 2 days to be precise, and the fact that he still cannot breathe, laugh or smile painlessly, his movement is slower than history and he can’t catch his breath after two minutes walk, doesn’t really help.

Wyatt's mood jumps up when he spots Mac at the end of the hallway, standing next to the exit door, impatiently waiting for him. He didn’t expect him to come, because the Section 20 was supposed to be in US, dealing with Parker for good. It must have been doctor Laney who told Mac he’s going _home_. Or more like going to a hotel in a foreign country.

“Parker?” Wyatt says when he reaches him after long meters of limping.  

“All good.” Mac nods shortly, not wanting to burden him with details at this moment. “You sure you’re good to go? You look like a shit.”

“Ha, ha,” Wyatt shoots him an annoyed glare. “Stop being an asshole and keep the door opened.”

Mac steps in between the automatic sliding doors and suspiciously watches as Wyatt shuffles through them. "I mean it Wyatt, you really don't-"

"I'll be fine, okay?" Wyatt snaps a little, purposely not telling him that he was discharged only thanks to the hospital bed deficiency.

Mac rather stays quiet, not really convinced, but not wanting to aggravate Wyatt either. He will be okay eventually, but right now Wyatt's frail figure doesn't make it easy to act on it. He guides them towards the car and he hates to welcome back the familiar, uncomfortable tension between them.

"I haven't told anyone." Mac breaks the silence.

"What?" Wyatt asks despite knowing very well what he meant.

"That you wanna leave," Mac elaborates, trying to read from Wyatt's expression, but he doesn't even look at him. "Wyatt, is that still on a table?" He insists.

Wyatt stops, staring at the ground. "Mac, there are still two surgeries ahead and even after that I might never get the greenlight," he tenses up and then, he finally looks at Mac, absolutely gravely. "To be honest… If I get it, I feel like I cannot deny myself the opportunity to spice up my life by mocking you, pissy pants." He says, no longer keeping on the solemn face.  

"No, she didn't."

"Oh yes, she did," Wyatt nods, smiling wide.

"What about the one with the cat on the tree?" Mac asks with a dreadful expression and receives a nod. "Fuck, now I don’t know if I want you around."

“You have no choice, dear Mac.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed.))
> 
> P.S. The adorable story from Mac's past is a true story! It happened ~25 years ago on a British secondary school to a boy named Dan; thanks for sharing that goes to my colleague whose name is NOT Dan :D

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone with medical knowledge ever reads this, please don’t die :D I did some research, saw some very ugly photos and videos and even consulted some things, therefore I hope I've got at least something right. Hospital environment in this detail is faaar beyond my knowledge, so I know it's off. In any case, I'd like to know how far from reality I am, and what would be correct, so if you feel like it, bring it on!


End file.
